


Off The Streets

by TheUnpredictableMuse



Series: Carter Duology - The Purge [2]
Category: The Purge (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24702127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUnpredictableMuse/pseuds/TheUnpredictableMuse
Summary: Sequel to Streets of Hell.First Posted on Fanfiction.net.A mysterious miraculous job offer throws the surviving Carters into the path of danger again. Will they survive it?
Series: Carter Duology - The Purge [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954699
Comments: 8
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Purge fic I first posted on fanfiction.net. It is based around OCs. I will not use canon characters from the movies as they are irrelevant to the world at large created by the movies. Plus, it's just too fun to stick to the 'canon' lines created. 
> 
> The prequel to this fic is titled 'Streets of Hell'.

“Is that the eviction notice?” Ben joked.

He sat on the couch in the apartment living room. Since Purge night, weeks passed. Late on rent again and barely scraping to buy food, they worked to clean up the Purge’s aftermath and then Ben successfully interviewed for a security guard job at the local shipping warehouse. Earning $15 an hour, it promised to keep them in the apartment long enough for the real game plan of survival to formulate.

Callisto Carter glared at him.

His eyes locked on the smartphone screen. “Any day now.” 

She prayed they didn’t shut off the water or else they’d be forced out earlier than expected.

“Ghost says hi.”

“Send him my best.” She said and massaged her temple. A headache brewed and they ran out of ibuprofen last week.

Using a paring knife, she slit open the envelope and fished out a pristine single sheet of paper listing a five figure pay out, job description, and start and end dates of the contract. Her eyes bulged and she flipped it over curiously. A phone number tempted her fingers to stray toward a smartphone identical to Ben’s.

“He’s asking if you were hired at the assisted living home.”

“No. They found someone to fill the administration role.”

“You’d think they’d at least give you an HR position given how you’ve protected the place.”

“Small place of employment…” She mumbled, her mind racing.

$70,000 after taxes. A literal miracle landed in her lap, and paranoia prevented her from truly enjoying it.

Nathaniel Lawson broke her. Almost dying at his hands and faced with their mother’s death, she trusted nothing to be without strings. Surviving Purge night by refusing to die at Danny’s hands earned her a reprieve, except in the pit of her stomach she knew – something wasn’t right.

Ben moved from the couch to the kitchen counter. “Slick took over Danny’s business. Ghost can’t slide us the cash.”

“That’s okay. I didn’t expect any compensation anyway. Is he safe?”

“For now.”

“Maybe Ghost can move in with us.” She volunteered.

“And have Slick hunt us down?”

An uncomfortable silence settled over them and she handed him the card. “Tell me what to do, Ben. Is it real? A cruel joke?” She turned the black smartphone over in her hand, anxiety attacking the already fried nerves.

He traced his finger over the high-quality card stock and indented black print. “Can’t hurt to call, right?”

Callisto raked her fingers through her hair. “Wish me luck.” She crossed her fingers and zombie walked to her bedroom. Passing their mother’s bedroom, a closed off memorial pristinely cleaned and dusted once a week, she wanted nothing more than to know where Butterball was and if he was still alive. Whoever let her cat out deserved to die.

Laying on the bed, she dialed the provided number and admired the amount on the front again.

A minute later, a sweet female voice answered. “Rynald Investments.”

“I’m sorry.” She compared the card to her phone screen. “I must have the wrong number.”

The woman paused, clacking, and then spoke again. “Are you Miss Carter?”

Callisto stilled and a chill overtook her blood. “Should I be worried?”

“No. Mr. Rynald found your portfolio online and thought the designs suitable. He wishes to take a risk on your inexperience hoping you’ll bring fresh ideas to his manor.”

It didn’t matter what the disembodied female said. Callisto believed none of it.

“Are you accepting the job offer?” The innocent question triggered a deep-rooted newfound fear in the pit of her chest.

She lost all her weapons and they literally pinched pennies. Back rent haunted them, and Layla and Rory had their own problems to handle. Carters survived.

Her jaw worked. “How large scale is the job?”

“Mr. Rynald will restrict your creative genius room by room.”

“Length of contract?”

“Mr. Rynald may extend the contract or offer you other responsibilities to continue your employment. I cannot accurately answer that question.”

Her gut untwisted and Callisto sat up. She felt like hell, but life improved significantly when faced with death knocking at the door. Nightmares disrupted sleep and waking only to Ben chugging down coffee and combatting his own demons rarely permitted her an easy night’s rest.

“What’s the catch?” She demanded, pinching the bridge of her nose to distract from the nagging voice shouting “Trap!”

“Mr. Rynald is the best of employers, Miss. There is no catch. He intends to hire you for the year and allow you to nurture your talent while providing a means of living.”

“When do I start?” She resigned.

“As soon as the paperwork is filled out, I can then contact Mr. Rynald and send you an email with the date, time, and location to meet him- “

“I don’t have a car.” Callisto said.

“He can send a car and driver. The location of his estate is not far from your home address.”

Of course. Miracle or not, this wreaked of a frame up job or a set up for something worse. She needed the damned money, and a year’s employment allowed them the opportunity to find their feet.

“Are you ready to provide the information we need? I can transfer you to an assistant.” Callisto accepted and prayed from the depths of her soul to whatever power existed that this wasn’t a trap, frame up, or set up. A half hour later and light chatter about the weather, she hung up and bowed her head. A weight lifted off her shoulders.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and she wiped them away.

A knock at the door snapped her out of it and she welcomed Ben into her room. He sat at the end of the bed, mindful to keep his shoes off the blankets. “The verdict.”

“It’s fishy…but $70,000 after taxes is better than nothing.” She said. “At best we can find another place to live. New start. New lives.”

“Should I tag along?”

“No.” She shook her head and breathed. “You have your job and if we don’t pay the back rent, we’ll never escape this place and find a new one.”

He played a YouTube video of kittens and puppies meeting for the first time. Bumbling furry babies amused him.

“Besides, I can help put you through proper security training and you can find a better paying job – maybe in the city.”

The booming industry of security extended to training schools established in every major city across the country. Known for the low tuition costs and boasting of 100% post-graduation job placement made it a popular option for teenagers graduation high school and people of little means.

“Maybe buy a house.” Callisto said.

He scoffed. “The banks wouldn’t risk it.”

She glanced at the clock and wished it wasn’t so late. Ben needed sleep and she ached to fully sleep through the night without waking in a sweat or panic. “I’m expecting a ride tomorrow to visit the house. A Mr. Rynald. Who is Mr. Rynald?”

“How do you spell Rynald?”

“To hell if I know.” She stressed. “I’m going to shower and then go to bed. Leftovers in the fridge. Layla will be by tomorrow to drop off my clothes I left at her house. I’ll call you if I don’t make it home before nightfall.”

Fist bumping, Ben wished her a good night and left her to the torture of ‘what-ifs’.

A half past 7 am, Callisto woke, showered, and readied her nerves. Putting on her beige pencil skirt, black closed toe heels, and a pretty black and white floral blouse, Callisto curled her hair and splashed the most expensive perfume she owned on her throat, wrists, and breasts before slipping on the business black trench coat and waited the half hour for the driver. In her black briefcase, she carried a physical copy of her portfolio, plus disc copies.

“You’re looking pretty.” Ben poured himself coffee.

She grabbed a banana from the countertop. “First impressions are important.”

“Why don’t you try for an office job in the city?”

“And commute?” She shook her head, curls bouncing. “Can’t afford the bus pass.”

He sighed. “So, this job is the hail mary.”

“I wish it weren’t, Ben, but it’s all we have. I made a promise to Mom that I would take care of you and I will. We will take care of each other. That’s what siblings do.”

He raised his mug to her. “I’ll lock the base down and call you before work.”

“If I end up dead or missing, just take care of yourself. The world is different now that people think killing is ‘okay’.” She air quote and checked her phone. “I’m going downstairs to wait. Hopefully, this offer isn’t a lie or set up.”

He crossed his fingers and rapped on the cabinet door.

Playing Tetris on her phone, she didn’t immediately see the black Lexus until a driver ,dressed in casual slacks and a long sleeve button up, introduced himself. Combed back hair matched the outfit. “You must be Callisto Carter.” He held out his hand to her.

She smiled nervously. “That’s me.”

“I am the driver for Clayton Rynald.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr…”

“Mr. Bromwell.”

“Strong last name.” She shook his hand. “Shall we?”

He motioned for her to take the front seat. “Sit back and enjoy the ride. Refreshments will be available at the house.”

“You mean manor.”

He shrugged and held the door open for her. “Ladies first.”

Sliding into the front seat, she awkwardly composed her briefcase on her lap and breathed deeply. Last chance to walk away. “Thank you, Mr. Bromwell.” They rode in silence occupied by music on the radio. She admired the rural scenery once they escaped the towns and main highways.

The house seemingly pixelated into view as the trees thinned out. One continuous line of windows spanned the bottom floor while the second floor hid behind a wall of horizontal slats shielding the windows behind. Wood and stone siding created a stunning modern house trapped in idyllic woods.

“Mr. Rynald is eager to meet you.” The driver said.

“Why?” Everyone praised the mysterious man, and despite the mountains of research the internet dumped into her lap, she learned nothing meaningful other than that Rynald Investments was a relatively new company flush with cash and a positive reputation. Clayton Rynald, a man who disliked being photographed, worked closely with partners in other parts of the world to help create a reliable network of intel for investments.

The car drifted to a gentle stop. “I will open the door for you, Miss Carter.” The driver promised.

She twiddled her thumbs, literally, and practically leapt out of the car.

“Miss Callisto Carter.” A familiar voice overflowing with warmth and kindness knifed through her defenses. “I thought you would never accept.”

TRAP! TRAP! TRAP!

Ignoring the raging devil on her shoulder, she turned toward none other than Nathaniel Lawson. Her lips twitched and defaulted into a thin white line. “Mr. Rynald. I’ve heard nothing but the best of praises. I am hoping their estimation of you is true.” She held out her hand to him.

They squeezed, crushing each other’s hands in a tight shake. “First impressions?” He gestured to the majestic building behind him.

What she wanted to say and what she could say in front of the driver dried the wit she relied on since her mother’s death. “Gorgeous.” She answered simply.

“It lacks pets.” His eyes lingered meaningfully. “I need a woman’s touch to the interior.”

They strolled up the wide paver, inlaid path. Shrubbery hedged off the flower beds full of color and weed free mulch. A pleasant smell toyed with Callisto’s nose. He motioned her to enter first, offering a cup of tea in the sunroom as casually as he beat her on Purge night.

White walls, glorious weathered gray wooden floors, and boring paintings covered the walls. Well-made furniture occupied the rooms and sturdy wooden doors stained a weathered gray closed off most of the manor from immediate view. She thought it was acceptable as is, but who was she to question another person’s preference in taste? Even if they were an asshole who tried to kill her.

“Do you really want me to design your interior?” She demanded, placing multiple arm’s length between them.

“As I said, it is in dire need of a woman’s touch.” He repeated smoothly. His familiar accent nagged at her – it was British, but from where in England?

Her mouth twitched again, and the words spilled freely. “You’re in dire need of a bullet between the eyes.”

“I can easily arrange a bullet for you if you don’t calm yourself. I have a reputation to uphold.” The calm collective manner chilled her blood, the voice screaming “Trap!” repeatedly fading into obscurity. “Pet.”

“Who all knows the real you?” Shoving her hands in her pockets, fingers curled into fists.

He gestured to her right. “Archie.” A sweaty, shirtless comrade lounged in the doorway to a home gym. “The bodyguards. The servants.”

Before she could ask “What servants?” a woman dusted a shelf in a sprawling library.

“So, is murdering people a hobby? Or an addiction?”

Archie removed weightlifting gloves. “You are Sienna’s double. After surgery.”

“Sienna Rynald.” Her nemesis supplied.

“And murder is your first choice of action?” If she died here now, she had no regrets. Working for this asshole for an entire year promised hell she wasn’t ready for.

“You wouldn’t understand.” Exhaustion entered his voice. “She tried to shoot a porn.”

Callisto’s jaw dropped. “Is that why you tried to kill me?”

“You’re an intelligent one, aren’t you?” Clayton mocked.

Her eyes narrowed on him and she battled the desire to break his nose then and there.

“Three weeks from now, my cousin will extend an invitation to be in employment as a bodyguard. He’ll train under our men and you’ll say nothing or forfeit his life.” Archie warned.

“I hate both of you.”

“It’s not personal.” Archie shifted more into her view. Her eyes swept over his sculpted form. She hated herself for thinking him attractive and vowed to bleach her brain of the lusting. “We have a guest room.”

“One you will use.” Clayton stepped into her space. “My driver will return you to your apartment tonight, you will pack your belongings, and move here tomorrow. Your employment papers state you’ll be paid weekly. The guest room is rent free. If you need to travel anywhere, my driver or cousin will escort you. Understood?”

“Or Ben’s life is forfeit.”

“You’re a smart one. Pet.” He patted her cheek. “Archie will give you the tour.”

“I need fresh air.” She turned to the front door and speed walked for the open doors. Neither man stopped her, and she stumbled out into the breathtaking tree line and rolling lawn. Her head spun, and she thought only of escape. A hand touched her shoulder and she whirled around face to face with Archie. “What?”

He smiled. “I understand your hesitation, but I am here to help you. Truly.”

His soft, alluring voice and British accent shifted the lusting into overdrive. She composed herself and cleared her throat multiple times. “Look, Archie, I know you didn’t have much of a hand in what happened, but he – “

“Clayton is a bit of an arse, yes.”

“That asshole.” She pointed at the front door. “Nearly killed me.”

“I know.”

“I nearly died.”

“I know.”

“Stop saying I know. I have a right to be angry, and now you’re blackmailing me into cooperation. You want me to just go along with this? As if nothing is wrong?” Her voice broke and she felt off balanced. “My cat is missing, and my mother is dead. We’re behind on rent, and my brother is working in a dead-end job trying to put food on the table while our landlord keeps threatening to evict us.”

“A pitiable chain of events—”

“No! You do not get to judge me. I have a right to be angry right now. I have a right to express it, and I’m not going to stand by and be called ‘Pet’ in a mocking manner for an entire year just so he can purge me next year.”

Archie nodded along. “The plans have changed. You are quite safe.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to. But you are paid to design the interior of this home.” He gestured to the home. “Prove your skills and earn your keep. We will not bother you. Upon our honor.”

“What honor?”

“Fair enough.” He stared straight ahead at the empty drive curving gently back into the woods. “But you will eat dinner with us, and you will mind your emotions. We must coexist in peace.”

“I did not ask for this.”

“Neither did I, but here we stand. Tour or no tour?” He asked patiently.

She stabbed her finger into his chest. “Don’t fuck with me, Archie. Just because my brother is being dragged into this doesn’t mean I won’t make your or his life a living hell.”

He removed the offending finger. “Tour or no tour?”

She clutched her chest. “I need something to drink first.”

“Wine- “

“No damned wine.” She snapped at him. “Water. I want to drink water.”

He motioned her back into the house.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Bromwell drove Callisto back to the shabby rent-controlled apartment at 4 p.m. To whittle away the remaining hours of the day, Archie conferenced with two of the investors and reviewed the business structure with them while Clayton searched for the perfect victims the international clients demanded. After a quick dinner the cousins seated themselves in the library to hot tea.

Propping his feet up on a brown leather stool, he leaned back in the padded off-white armchair. “Congratulations. You’ve angered the woman responsible for decorating your new home.”

“Is that all?” His cousin flipped through sheets of numbers.

“Not everyone is meant to be pushed, Clay.”

“Does she scare you?”

His jaw worked back and forth. “How she’ll react when her brother is here is what worries me.”

“This was your idea.” Clayton looked up from the daunting figures. People trusted them to return a profit. If they didn’t…more than Callisto Carter would hunt them the upcoming Purge night.

“I wanted to make peace with the damage we caused. Not start a war.”

“You call this war? It’s foreplay at best.”

He hopped to his feet and towered over the desk and a cousin who guided his younger years to a life of crime made more comfortable by the proceeds of their successful endeavors. “This isn’t amusing.”

“Your conscience catching up finally?” Clayton sipped his cooled tea, a smirk away from being punched.

“At least I have one.” A finger jabbed at the man responsible for the pain in the first place.

He placed the cup back in the saucer. “Archie, you’re here at my leisure.”

Unable to keep himself from knocking his cousin out, Archibald Westfield walked away from the desk and toward the bookshelves. “I also have to tolerate the woman and she’s blood thirsty. She’ll become worse when Benjamin arrives.” He dread the hatred that would seep into the cracks of this gloriously modern home once that day arrive.

“Manage her.” The simple reply needled at Archibald.

In their teenaged years, Archibald suffered Clayton’s orders because Clayton attracted girls and Archibald leeched off the bad boy vibe. Once he hit twenty, he bulked up under the tutelage of a personal trainer while covering for Clayton’s shady side businesses. In truth, his cousin surprised him when he cooperated with the peaceful suggestion. He regretted placing the surviving Carters further under Clayton’s oppressive thumb.

“I’m trying. She’s damaged. You broke her.” He whirled around.

“Scratched the shiny surface. That’s all.”

“You need to apologize.”

“For?” He gestured for Archibald to sit again.

Ignoring the invitation, he opted to plot the next year to better cater to their soon-to-be victims. “For once in your life, try to think of anyone except yourself, Clay.” He slid the doors shut and disappeared into the gym. Sweating off the frustration with people’s inhumanity appealed to his morality far more than calling his cousin a stream of impolite names.

Dwelling on the dark task before him, one he volunteered to Clayton’s attention in a bid to redeem himself on a soulful level, he retired to bed and woke with hopes of arranging a breakfast laid out as a peace offering.

“No expense spared, Lisa.”

The dark-haired cook slaved over bacon, eggs, and a side meal for Clayton. “Don’t worry. I know how to cook. Your pretty project will eat well this morning.”

“She is not a project.” If Callisto Carter ever heard herself referred to as a project-

“Yes, she is.” The cook smiled at him. “A project to restore your happiness. To brighten the man you are. We’re friends, remember? I know you.”

He lounged in the doorway. “I’m not that unhappy.”

“When was the last time you pursued a real relationship?” She placed a plate on top the marble countertop and scooped scrambled eggs out of a pan.

“We’re not talking about this.”

“When was the last time you spared time for personal adventures?” Dropping bread into the toaster, she pressed her case.

His voice rose and he checked himself before he offended a good friend. “We’re not talking about this.”

“Oh, but we are.” She shook a wooden spoon at him. “Your pretty project is important to you, and by extension, important to me.”

He pressed his hand to his forehead. “I have to wait for her out front. She’s not going to be happy.”

“If what you said was true, no one will be happy. Except your cousin. And I’m just the cook. My job is to make delicious food.” She flashed a perfect smile at him and motioned him out of the kitchen half dominated by a wraparound counter dotted with a sink and electric stove top.

Waving his hand in the air, Archibald marched toward the front door. Wringing his hands, he relished the hopes of improving another’s quality of life like his improved by association with Clayton. Mr. Bromwell held open the passenger door, and right on cue, Callisto Carter stepped out. Hair up in a ponytail, no makeup, and dressed down, she looked perfect.

“Miss Carter.” He cleared his throat. 

Her brow lifted. “I’m here. On schedule.”

“On schedule.” He repeated dumbly. “You look…awake.”

“Well, I’m feeling a little sluggish. You can help carry my suitcase in.” She motioned to the trunk. “I hope you don’t mind. I packed the entire closet. I had more clothes than I realized.”

He laughed. “They usually accumulate over time.”

“The good news is that it’s under 100 pounds. Converted to metric, I don’t know the measurements but since you were driving him prior to this, I’m certain you can figure out the numbers. Now, I’m hungry and I have a headache because I had to endure the twenty questions game from Ben. The little brother whose life is being threatened.” Her cutting tone dulled the happiness he harbored. “Is breakfast ready or is English hospitality a lie?”

“Mr. Bromwell, I’ll help with the luggage. Miss Carter, Clayton isn’t a morning person so be gentle.”

The look on her face promised death at the slightest insult.

“She was no kinder on the way over, Mr. Westfield.”

“That is the Callisto Carter I know. The beacon of outrage and betrayal.” He said as he removed the large suitcase stuffed to the brim. “Do you mind grabbing the rest of the clothes?” Shirts and dresses on hangers layered beneath the suitcase. 100 pounds it was not, but she made certain to squeeze all she could in it.

“Sir, is it wise- “

“Most absolutely not wise.” He grit his teeth.

“Shouldn’t we be taking precautions to protect Mr. Rynald?”

“Mr. Rynald started this. Mr. Rynald can handle the consequences of his thoughtlessness like a man.” Archibald stated firmly. “Onward.”

They hauled the clothing to the designated guest room.

“Miss Carter!” A cheerful explosion of genuine happiness blasted Callisto Carter on her warpath to the grand kitchen. Clayton Rynald intercepted. “I trust you had time to dwell on the facts of our situation.”

She grimaced. “Trust me. I’m aware of my perilous condition. Ben isn’t. Yet.”

“I’m disappointed you haven’t tried to run.” He blocked the entrance to the kitchen and edged her away from any escape into other parts of the home. “You have a reputation to uphold.” 

She backed away.

“You’re safe here.”

“You tried to kill me.” Callisto said through gritted teeth.

“Change of plans.” He waxed nonchalantly.

“Why the change of plans? What’s going to stop you from attempting it again in the future?” She hit the wall and swallowed hard.

“Because my plans will no longer benefit from your death.” A cruel smile corrupted his otherwise average appearance.

“You’re going to use me to kill Sienna.” She guessed.

“Why would you suspect that?” His voice softened and chilled her blood.

Sliding out of the hole she put herself in, he matched her angle. “It helps if you’re honest. The ground we stand is contentious at best. My brother’s life is being threatened right now, and he’s innocent. If you want to punish me, fine, but please leave my brother out of this. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“A heartfelt plea. My heart weeps.” He pressed a hand to his chest.

She growled. “Have you no heart? I thought you were British. Where are your manners? Aren’t you supposed to be polite to a fault?”

He laughed at her. “Our greatest deception to date.”

Callisto tugged on her ponytail.

“You can say that all you wish, but at the end of the day I own you for a year. You’re going to do exactly as I order. My orders are simple – redesign this bland mess.” A hint of genuine discontent spread across his voice and face like a mask.

She blinked. “The floors and doors are gorgeous. The windows seem brand new, roof in good condition. Natural sunlight outshines manmade lighting. I honestly do not know what needs redesigned other than a few pillows, maybe painting walls or applying wallpaper. Simple cosmetic issues.”

“Free reign, sizable budget. Remember you’ll have to live here too.” He walked off.

“I hate you!” She shouted after him.

“I love you too, Pet!” He waved over his shoulder.

Hours passed between the grand breakfast and Callisto attending dinner in the modern dining room. Lisa delivered a plate of small sandwiches earlier and refused to answer any of Archibald’s questions about the permanent house guest. Appearing no worse for wear, she wore her hair around her shoulders and donned a pair of jeans and a paint splattered t-shirt.

Archibald said nothing as he thought about how to address the object of his fascination.

Lisa placed individual plates in front of each of them telling them she was off the clock from 8 pm until tomorrow morning at 6 am.

“Thank you.” Callisto grumbled and admired the neatly sliced pork chop splayed out beside neatly plopped mashed potatoes housing melting butter in the middle depression. “American staples. I love it.”

Clayton poured a glass of wine for himself and Archibald. “A birdy told me you were settling in.”

“A little unpacking.” She cut him off.

“Snapping at Archie every five minutes.” He leaned forward.

She glowered at Archibald. “He hovers too much.”

He tried to inquire after her multiple times during the afternoon except she never let him past the cracked door. Witnessing the volatile morning interaction worried Archibald, and he wanted to stubbornly reassure her despite knowing anything he said would be immediately dismissed.

“There’s a reason for that.”

“I’m not running off – well unless you try to kill me again.” She stabbed at her potatoes with a spoon and mixed in the butter.

“Change of plans, Pet.”

She stopped the aggressive stirring. Underneath her eyelashes, she contemplated his death and the hundreds of ways to approach the final destination in every human’s life journey. “Stop calling me that.”

“Never. You are Pet to me. A most treasured memory.” He sipped his wine and stared her down, daring her to act out.

“Archie, remind your cousin I am bound by money, not blood.” She turned to the observer trapped in fascination at her mere presence. 

His tongue regained full use and he hurried to taste the dry wine. “What makes you believe I can restrain him?” He joked.

“You’re blood.” She snapped.

Archibald cleared his throat. “He never listened to me.”

“Pet, I’m sure a little therapy will work through it.” Clayton wisely stayed in his seat at the head of the table. “I’ll even pay for it.”

She pointed a butter knife at him. “I hate you.”

“Love you too, Pet.”

“May we refrain from personal names at the dining table?” Archibald protested weakly. “This is a dining table, not a torture room.”

The offending pair shrugged it off and proceeded to grant Archibald the silent treatment and sniped at each other in between bites of food and drink with the occasional side bar on expectations for Sundays.

“An unbeliever dines with us. We must notify the inquisition immediately.” Archibald jested over banana pie. She mouthed what he presumed to be an expletive or countdown – honestly, he couldn’t tell at this point – before pushing a half-finished piece of banana pie away from her. “I meant to make you laugh.”

A tight-lipped upward twitch later, and she excused herself to walk through the house to take pictures as the light faded. The inexpensive Canon branded camera captured each room from multiple angles. Archibald followed her enamored with the exploration of the light sources engaged and disengaged.

She half turned to him while checking the memory of the data card. “Did you need something or were your ordered to follow me?”

His heart sunk to his gut. Everything American right down to the attitude and he loved every inch of her.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

“Sorry. I was curious.”

“I’m just taking pictures of the rooms in the different lighting and seeing where the current lighting reaches. If I’m redesigning the furniture layout and such, I want to see what I can change and how it’ll affect the comfort of the owner.” She answered neutrally. “Is Lawson finishing the pie?”

“He’s clearing the table. Lisa asked for his help.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to act casual.

“I’m shocked he even lifts a finger to do anything but amuse himself.” She muttered and faced the window peering out toward a guard house she hadn’t seen the day prior. A miniature version of the main house, she expected it was crawling with property guards at all hours. “Lisa’s nice. She said you arranged for the breakfast. Insisted on all the American staples.”

His face burned and those damned manners kicked the internal honesty button repeatedly until he could no longer ignore it. “I feel bad about my cousin’s actions. As an extension of his wealth, I decided to make proper use of his wealth to make comfortable those he wronged.”

“And Ben?” She spotted two guards smoking on the front porch of the miniature house.

“Not my suggestion. Although the package your brother will be introduced to will be my contribution to ‘I’m sorry for my inaction.’” He clenched his hands and breathed deeply. “This is your temporary home. My temporary home.”

“Until I’m used to kill Sienna.”

“Yes.”

She stopped snapping pictures and fully faced him, dark bags under her eyes. “I mind, you know, being used to hurt someone, but if I can not prevent it, then I want to know the truth of my conditions. Of my boundaries. I grew up poor. Mom gave us all she could give us, but in the end, she was dragged from that apartment. My little brother wants part of the big world but he’s far too innocent to be involved in all of this. The Rynald world. I know, okay. This is not a pleasure trip for anyone. But I am willing to call for a truce. Between you and I. No calling me Pet…and I won’t call or treat you like the dirt off the bottom of my boot.”

He nodded. “We’re not that different, you and I.”

“Mind telling me more about yourself after I have a look at the gardens. I want to match the colors in the garden to the pops of color here.”

“It’s dark.”

“I know. I meant tomorrow morning. I have more unpacking to do and Ghost called and wanted to know where I was. I don’t know what to tell him. He’s guilt tripping and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.” She turned the camera off. “You don’t know how hard it was to lie to Ben, Archibald.”

“Archie, please.”

“Archie.” She exhaled. “He’s going to learn the truth.”

He nodded. “I know. When that times come, I will tell him the full truth.”

“It won’t be your responsibility.” She said solemnly. “As his sister, as his last living blood relative directly related to him, it is my burden.”

“I want to help.”

“Keep my brother alive and unharmed.” She said and walked away.

He studied the weathered gray flooring and pale blue curtains, admiring the way they co-existed peacefully despite vying for dominance in an otherwise bland spare room. Clicking off the last lamp on his way out, he stopped and let himself relax. Clearly, he wasn’t the only person seeking stability in the household.

Reporting to the nursery turned office, he tried to make himself comfortable in the cramped room. Checking his email first, he forwarded relevant emails to Clayton and starred the other emails he needed to respond to tomorrow. Half his duties as Clayton’s shadow comprised of helping manage the contacts and logistical needs of those contacts. With the newest addition of Rynald Investments, he now needed to separate shady side business and legitimate United States of America business and keep his sanity.

Arranging for the accommodations at a nearby hotel in the bordering town, he soon completed the most pressing tasks.

Checking the status of the tracking on the amazon packages for himself and Clayton, he made a mental note to buy tickets to a concert. One of the boons of listening to bands that don’t tour outside of the US resolved itself and doubled as a measure of keeping Callisto Carter on his side.

A knock at the door and Lisa leaned dramatically in the doorway. “Can you please keep Miss Carter away from my kitchen? It is perfect as is.”

He nodded.

“Oh, one more thing. I know you’re not from around these parts, but after what you told me about Miss Carter, I wouldn’t trust her around weapons.”

“She’s not going to shoot up the house and everyone in it,” Archibald dismissed.

She pressed her hands together. “It would make me feel better if you restricted access.”

“And the other servants.” He crossed his arms.

“And the other servants. We don’t think she’s a bad influence. We just want to live another day.” Lisa said and yawned. “I need to shower and sleep.”

He sat upright. “Lisa, if there is one thing I can accomplish to make this a safer home, what would it be?”

She glanced at her wristwatch. “Don’t force people who don’t want to be here be here.”

“You know I can’t make that happen.”

“Keep the threat away from weapons.”

“Realistically speaking- “

She walked away leaving him without a satisfactory answer.


	3. Chapter 3

Settling into the modern manor proved to be easier than expected for Callisto. A beautiful home filled with beautiful furniture and in a breathtaking setting lured anyone into a false sense of security. The first week she snapped pictures of each room in the house and researched color and decorating schemes that would fit the setting outside the house and match the ‘I demand color’ Clayton Rynald wanted.

Archibald woke early with her each morning to walk the driveway and back until the day prior when she walked it alone and returned to everyone acting normal and unconcerned. In the evenings she relaxed in the library and sketched out furniture layouts after taking room measurements. Clayton spared a civil morning greeting and biting conversation at the dining table, otherwise too busy to torment his captive guest.

She almost forgot about the dangers living in the manor.

“I’ll answer the doorbell.” Archibald volunteered a sunny afternoon dotted with showers of rain.

“Don’t forget your shirt. You might blind a few people with your chest.” She teased nonchalantly from the kitchen entrance. Lisa chuckled behind her. “Lisa, who’s at the door?” She demanded.

“I know of no new guests.” Lisa answered.

Opening the door, Archibald welcomed in several strangers dressed in jeans and long sleeved shirts.

“Really? Sure about that?” Callisto challenged.

Lisa nodded. “Are they adding new guests to my list of people to feed?”

“Not entirely sure.”

The blonde haired interior designer casually observed for her own survival, otherwise she would have hid by now.

Lisa joined Callisto. “They’re adding new guests to my list of people to feed.”

Archibald stopped in front of the ladies. “Callisto, Lisa, my comrades –“

“Mr. Alcott and Mr. Wyche.” The taller of the pair extended his hand. “Miss Carter and Mrs. Thomas?”

“Actually I’m divorced. My good for nothing ex cheated on me.” She flashed her left hand conveniently missing a ring. “She’s single. And looking.”

“Not looking.”

“Yes, you are.” Lisa cocked her head toward Archibald’s exposed chest.

Callisto cleared her throat. “Just because the view is nice doesn’t mean I’m looking for the other half.” She said more firmly. “Mr. Alcott. Mr. Wyche.” Sliding past the men she disappeared into the library and closed the doors.

Lisa sighed. “Should I add two more to tonight’s list?”

“If you’d be so kind-“ Archibald smiled. “I’ll talk to Callisto privately.”

“With a shirt on.” Lisa disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Your cousin is home?” Mr. Alcott asked.

Archibald directed him to the library. Tucked away in the corner and plugging away on a laptop purchased the day after her first paycheck, Callisto steadfastly ignored everyone. Archibald pulled up the footstool next to her and sat down. “Callisto.”

“Archibald.” She replied neutrally.

“How is the presentation faring?”

“Room by room. I’m saving the library for last.” She answered, peering over to the top of the screen at Mr. Wyche. “Should I vacate?”

“Unless you plan on involving yourself in official business, it would be wise.” Mr. Wyche answered flatly.

Closing the laptop, she smiled. “Thank you for the warning. I appreciate it. Far more-“ She glared at Archibald and Clayton. “-than you’ll know. Perhaps you can teach my hosts the same lesson.” She nodded to Mr. Alcott and closed everyone in the library.

The door opened.

“Could you grab my shirt?” Archibald asked.

“I’m not walking in the middle of a shop talk, Archie.” She shut him down. “You want the shirt, you grab it.”

“I would but Mr. Alcott and Mr. Wyche are important. People you don’t want to cross.” He emphasized.

“And people who understand secrecy is highly important.”

“Please grab my shirt.”

“I’m not entering that room.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Fine. But you destroy my distance from more bullshit and I’ll make sure this peace turns to a cold shoulder.” She turned on her heel and stormed off to the weight room. Placing the laptop gently on the bench in front of the full body mirror, she sorted through the pile of discarded towels in the hamper before moving onto the closet and removing a button up still on the hanger. “You’re lucky I don’t hate-“

Turning into a chest, she almost screamed.

“My apologies, Miss Carter.” Mr. Alcott lifted the shirt from her hand. “I did not wish to disturb your work.”

She pressed her hand to chest. “How thoughtful of you. Are you also from London?”

“No. Born and raised on a farm in the north.”

“I envy your freedom. Being city or town locked all my life, I don’t enjoy the rural areas all that much.” She thought his accent sounded different. She preferred the Londoner accent, but both were magic to her ears.

He sounded incredulous. “Even now?”

Her brow lifted. “Is there something you wish to know, Mr. Alcott?”

He suspended the shirt between them. “You are not interfering in business operations?”

“Trust me you, Sir, I do not want to be here anymore than I am able afford the mortgage on this home. The only reason I’m here is because Clayton Rynald is an asshole. He’s enjoying this torture. Unfortunately, a contract was signed and for a year I have to put up with him. Trust me you, we need not be in each other’s paths.”

He glanced her over. “You look familiar.”

“I haven’t visited London.”

“Americans are incapable of invoking a true accent.” He smiled. “You’re not Sienna.”

“No. Pornography isn’t my calling.” She shrugged. “I was born this way. Better or worse.”

“Would you object to dinner with me? I’m holidaying a few days and I need a guide.”

She cleared her throat, a few conspiracy theories already running through her head. “I don’t know…You have to clear that with Clayton. He’s convinced I’m going to run off. Requires an escort at all times. Mr. Bromwell or Archie. You aren’t on that short list.”

“I will be soon.” He promised her boldly before leaving her in the room alone.

She breathed deeply hoping that Clayton refused his idea. While not objectionable, she didn’t trust the man. Now, only if she never met Clayton Rynald, aka Nathaniel Lawson, it would have been a different story. Her and Archie would be neck deep in physical relations and she’d be fantasizing about a date with someone like Mr. Alcott.

Snagging the laptop, she relocated to the sunroom and finished her presentation before Lisa provided her with soup and crackers.

“Is that for the entryway?” Lisa hovered over Callisto’s shoulder.

A color collage of soft gray, royal blue, and grass green smashed into the entrance with a passion completely erasing the white walls and ugly paintings. “That’s the plan. I told him that the house is already beautiful and I wouldn’t dare touch the floors, but he’s right about white being everywhere. It’s a lifeless color.”

“To you.” Their eyes locked for a moment.

“Yes. I don’t like white in large expanses. I think it should be broken up by color or patterns.” She leaned back and allowed Lisa a fuller view of the recreated layout. “Too much color? Should I remove one? Pull back on the strength of each?”

Lisa pointed at the green. “Splashes of green with the blue dominating the entryway. The gray is already in the floors.”

“What about wall adornments?”

“I’m a landscape and abstract person myself, but you should ask what Mr. Rynald prefers.” Lisa advised. “I can’t wait to see what you do with the next room.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not touching the kitchen. The idea of replacing backsplash and perfectly good counter tops is a sin.” Callisto assured her. “Thank you for the food.”

“It’s my job.” Lisa’s retreating footsteps swept in welcome silence.

“Miss Carter, how long do you believe the redesign will take?” Mr. Alcott asked.

She pushed cheesy broccoli around with a spoon. “The design aspect shouldn’t take longer than a month at most. In fact, majority of my work is putting together the presentation for his approval.” She nodded to Clayton at the head of the table. “Then I have to order the supplies through him-“ She nodded to Archibald. “-and hire the professionals to start the work, who will also be paid through him.” She nodded to Archibald again.

“Motivated. An admirable trait.”

“I’m not arguing with $70,000 after taxes. Especially in this economy, although admittedly if I entered the security sector and hired myself out, I’d probably earn up to $100,000 plus if I find the right employer.” She shrugged. “Not that I want to enter that profession. It’s a short life span the lower on the pole you are.”

“Your brother is in that profession.” Mr. Alcott stated matter-of-factly.

“On the lower end of it barely scraping $32,000 at the end of the year. With luck I can give him a leg up with the money I’m earning now…not that it’ll matter much. Birdy told me that Ben will be working for Clayton soon. So he’ll scrape his way from $32,000 to $42,000.” She stared at Clayton pointedly.

Archie pretended to know nothing under the scrutiny of Mr. Wyche and Mr. Alcott.

“You’re keeping the woman here against her will, Clay?”

“Someone needs to lure in Sienna.” Clayton said glibly. “Who better than her miraculous double?”

Callisto nearly spit out her food.

“You should be gentler with her double. She’s far more innocent and well-intentioned.” Mr. Alcott scolded.

Sucking down the glass of water, Callisto wanted to believe that scolding to be genuine.

Clayton studied her from the other side of the table. “You’re right. She’s a fragile being with a passion for interior design and a deep seated love for her family.”

She wished for ear muffs.

“Exactly. I propose treating her to a dinner on the town. My expense.” Mr. Alcott suggested. “While I’m in the area, what better company than a pretty, reputable individual on my arm?”

She dropped her fork and crossed her arms. Mr. Wyche appeared entirely too amused to be casually disinterested. What could she say without offending anyone? Archibald warned her they ranked higher than Clayton, and without a place to run or hide and the unwillingness to endanger her family and friends, she’d have to tolerate this as long as the contract lasted.

Clayton’s face tightened. “I see no reason why you are not trusted company.”

She pressed her lips together and breathed.

“What do you say, Miss Carter? Tomorrow evening I treat you to high society dining.”

She wondered exactly where he planned to wine and dine her. “It sounds wonderful.” She fiddled with her hands, appetite gone for the delicious meal Lisa made. “High society means formal wear?”

He bowed his head. “If you need formal wear, we can visit shops tomorrow afternoon.”

“I have formal wear. I’m just confirming the expectations. Afterall, Mr. Rynald said he’d extend my contract for a full year of services once my designing is no longer necessary. His HR assistant mentioned that he’d assign other duties.” She replied equally tight faced and staring down Clayton. One person tormenting her, she could handle that. Two – no.

Perfect smile met perfect smile, and the battlefield established itself for all present.

Archibald cleared his throat. “Does the arm decoration have the preference to drive?”

“Mr. Bromwell is a most capable driver. I wouldn’t want to step on his toes.” She forced a smile and resumed picking at her food again. “So it is settled. I will be Mr. Alcott’s chosen company while he is here and not conducting business.”

“It is settled.” Clayton confirmed.

Mr. Wyche raised his glass to the center of the table. “To partnerships and amusement.”

The toast passed around the table and ended on Callisto staring at all of them like they lost their minds. Feigning the sentiment, she hurried to finish her meal and disappear from all company currently in the house. She made it safely to the steps before a crisp, clear voice cut the loose tension swirling through the manor.

“I trust you’ll be prepared for dinner by 6 pm, Miss Carter?”

She turned to face Mr. Alcott. “With bells and whistles, Mr. Alcott.”

He smiled. “Sleep well.”

“To partnerships and amusement, Mr. Alcott.” She said in parting and hurried upstairs toward the shower before the hot water ran out and Archibald tried to make hasty apologies for an unapologetic person.

She tried to lose herself in the presentations after a brief shower, conquered by sleep and woken by pounding on the door and Archibald insisting she join everyone for breakfast. Before she could demand answers on why, Archibald claimed he needed to call someone leaving her to choose how she wanted to present at breakfast.

“Alright, Callisto…You’ve faced worse. It’s just a bunch of polite men.” She splashed water on her face in the en suite bathroom and gargled mouth wash. Dragging a brush through unruly hair, she checked her texts, emails, and Reddit – her favorite place to haunt when she avoided working. Dressing for the day, she donned a gray pencil skirt, the same heels as before, and black blouse. Avoiding the makeup for now, she splashed make up on her wrists and neck afraid of overdoing it. Arriving at a table full of men discussing someone’s early grave, she scraped the chair back as loudly as possible before equally loudly apologizing for not waking sooner.

Lisa poured a glass of orange juice for her. “You look ready to conquer the world.”

“Considering my current company, I have a feeling conquering the world is more like avoiding stepping on toes.” She grimaced. “But I am American. They’re British. What better Revolutionary War to wage than on the social level?”

Lisa laughed at her.

She faced the company treating her casual combativeness as a mere inconvenience. “Where’s Clayton?” She asked bluntly.

“He needed to go into town. He’ll be back by noon.” Mr. Wyche answered.

Her gaze flicked from Mr. Wyche and Mr. Alcott. “Perfect. I might be able to enjoy the garden without making needless small talk.”

“We find it an interesting discovery that you are not Sienna Rynald.” Mr. Wyche confronted the elephant. “A most comical difference, in fact.”

She nodded slowly. “I trust Sienna is a threat to your….business?”

“One could say that.” Mr. Alcott allowed. “Pass the butter, Jason.”

The butter quart passed from one end of the table to the other. “I’m not Sienna.” She reiterated.

They faced her at the same time. “We know.” Mr. Wyche replied. “How much do you know about Clayton Rynald?”

Her head shifted side to side, lips screwed up in a displeased manner, eyes rolled to the top of her head deep in rolling thoughts. “He’s an asshole, he hates his sister, he has money with roots I’d rather not dig through, and he uses his cousin like a baseball bat, which is a shame because Archie seems like a decent sort of person.” She grinned ear to ear a brief moment and folded her hands on top the table. “He signs my paychecks and that’s all I care about.”

They looked at each other, and then her. “You don’t know anything of value.”

“Does that mean you’ll keep me out of business related conversations?” She asked.

“Do you wish to become an associate?”

“No.”

“Why should we involve you in any business?” Mr. Wyche challenged.

She shrugged. “Because Clayton is an asshole and will sabotage my happiness and security just to torture me.”

“He values his money more.” Mr. Alcott assured her. “Sienna’s already bedded half of his associates. It is likely you’ll encounter others connected to his side interests who are more familiar with Sienna.”

Her brow cocked. “Excellent. What I needed.”

“Do not worry. We’ll keep them from harassing you.” Archibald interrupted and sat closest to her. “I see they have been behaving themselves.”

She glanced between all of them. “Did all of you attend the same school or you just found each other as life went on?” She asked, pointing at each of them individually.

He piled bacon and scrambled eggs on her plate. “Eat or you’ll lose your figure.”

She obeyed and sipped on the orange juice, considering each man and deciding they were all a threat to her regardless of their politeness. Relaxing in the odd company, she soon finished dessert and prepared to ask Lisa for a special meal when Ben finally arrived.

“Miss Carter, spare me an afternoon on the town?” Mr. Alcott asked her.

“And then dinner?” She clarified.

He bowed his head. “Forgive me if I don’t want the company of men I’ve known since I was a child.” He clasped her hands in his.

Remembering they were here on short term business, she sighed. “You said you from the north. How could you have grown up together if Archie is from London?” She asked.

He kissed her knuckles. “Your mind is a beautiful tool. Do not waste it on us.”

She laughed nervously. “I need to fetch my coat. Will Mr. Bromwell be driving?”

“I will.” Archie volunteered. “The Lexus should be comfortable enough.”

Separating, Callisto lingered as long as she could in the bedroom. She felt plastic-y in the pencil skirt and blouse, but no one complained about it, and she didn’t mind playing dress up every now and then. The business trench coat completed the outfit, cards and cash in one pocket, and she rejoined the gentlemen with much less hope than her cheerful smile presented.

The black Lexus she become familiar with pulled from a multi-car garage tucked in the backside of the manor. Mr. Alcott handed Callisto into the back seat and joined Archibald in the front. She checked her phone screen again, texted Ghost back, and listened to them talk about their favorite European football teams with such gusto that she momentarily forgot their criminal background and saw them as normal people. She liked to think of them as normal, individuals who complained about a busy workload and difficult coworkers.

“Shopping first, Callisto?” Archibald asked over the radio.

She crossed her ankles. “Sure, Archie.”

Despite her misgivings, she liked this moment. It felt…almost normal.


	4. Chapter 4

The afternoon passed surprisingly quick for Callisto. She found a beautiful dusty pink overcoat and a black dress with a knee-high hemline. The local diner, Ralph’s Bites, grabbed Callisto’s attention, and eager to please Archibald and Mr. Alcott obliged her.

She dipped french fries in gravy and ignored the cheeseburger while Archibald fret over how long he would have to work out that afternoon. Losing herself in the small talk of calorie counting and what qualified as a cheat meal, she didn’t notice Mr. Alcott studying her intensely. 

“If everything is legal for one night, the website should be legal year-round. We’ll host the videos and livestream on the night itself and then archive them for casual perusal afterwards.” Mr. Alcott said. “I hear the revenue streams are rich in the first two months after Purge night.”

She froze up.

“I don’t think Callisto should be at the table for this conversation.” Archibald said. “Her experience- “

“Yes, I heard. He wasn’t too rough, was he?” Genuine concern marked his inquisitive tone.

Her appetite disappeared. “I’m not discussing that night. I’d rather take a bullet between the eyes first.” She answered before promptly picking up her plate and reseating herself two booths over.

Archibald and Mr. Alcott tracked her steps before returning to the business discussion.

She ate half the cheeseburger before her stomach protested and she boxed the leftovers for snacking at the manor. She slipped the waitress her card and tried to pay for her food when the overworked woman informed her that the bill was covered. “I wish I had cash to ti- “

“He already tipped.” The waitress answered with a soft smile. “Have a great afternoon.”

“Thank you. You too.” She dreaded returning to the Lexus and being subjected to talk of live streaming people being tortured and killed. It was standard operating practices since year two of the purging tradition, and after her own experience with nearly dying, she didn’t want someone to witness their own torture second or third hand. Worse yet – to be famous for being the purge victim that survived and constantly asked if they were going to seek revenge or wanted to off themselves because of the trauma.

Several nationally known survivors already ate the bullet or swallowed the bathroom medicine cabinet. All of them entered therapy, where the most famous of them currently stayed under suicide watch. The news reported on their progress time to time for a ‘feel good’ piece, and it always disgusted her.

Hands shaking, she picked up her food with both hands. Archibald held her shopping bags and waited for her. Mr. Alcott continued talking regardless of her clear aversion to it. She texted Ghost again and reminded herself that less than a year remained on her contract with Clayton Rynald, aka Nathaniel Lawson.

“Miss Carter can help with the color schemes.” Mr. Alcott volunteered her services without thought.

She blanched. “I’d rather not.”

“It’s just a website, Callisto.” Archibald pressured.

The Lexus unlocked and she slipped into the back. Food firmly on her lap, she breathed in and out until the men entered the car and invaded her safe space.

Mr. Alcott turned to face her. “Are you unwilling to help because you dislike Clayton- “

“I loathe that cold-hearted bastard. Not dislike.” She corrected him sharply. “And I’m not helping because if it were me being tortured and surviving, I wouldn’t want millions to see it. I know you don’t understand that, but I will not take part in something that will directly affect any survivors. As a survivor, I refuse to.”

He nodded once. “Understood.”

“Thank you.” She made the mistake of looking up in the rearview mirror and catching Archibald pitying her. “Stop that, Archibald.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Archibald answered and pulled out onto a clear street. 

Unable to stop herself, she texted Ben and asked after him to distract herself. Keenly aware of Mr. Alcott’s quiet attentions on her and Archibald’s simmering concern, she kept her eyes down and fingers occupied. She started when the music blasted, and Archibald apologized. She made the mistake of looking up and making eye contact with Mr. Alcott. A certain coldness to his stare put her on edge, and she worried that Clayton Rynald may not be the only person who she needed to keep an eye on.

Anxiety ranked up when the manor/house peaked into view, and she crossed the threshold with full knowledge she was to be Mr. Alcott’s escort and amusement for the next few days.

“Miss Carter, before you ready yourself for this evening, I would like your advice on my house across the pond.” He produced his blackberry and opened his photos. “You’re a designer- “

“Interior only.” She answered quickly.

Mr. Alcott flicked through photos rapidly and stopped on one in early evening light. “Per your expertise, if I wanted to make this room feel bigger?”

She put aside her irritation with him. “Lighter colors generally make a room bigger. Darker colors shrink it. There are different color theories you can follow in picking out a color scheme- “

“Neutrals?”

“I think that neutrals are an acceptable bridge between colors but overall, I’m not a fan of them as the only choice.”

“I’m partial to blues.”

“A wide ranger of options.” The memories simmered beneath the surface, and while she might have suggested the colors red, black, and gray for the website, she also refused to assist in the gruesome project.

He flicked to another picture of the same room. “Any finishes I should consider?”

She thought it looked like a living room, but she wasn’t sure. “Sitting area?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see any imperfections in your pictures, but it looks like your walls are either Satin or Eggshell…”

“I honestly don’t know.” He answered.

She stepped aside for Clayton, but he leveled with her. “Semi-gloss is my extreme limit, but full gloss is an option and great for reflecting light. If you want that route. I’m not a matte person, but others are. It also hides all the imperfections. I straddle between Satin and Eggshell myself, but you must live there. I don’t.”

He pocketed his phone. “Thank you, Miss Carter.”

“I am happy to talk about interior design at any time. Just not picking out colors for a murder website. Yes, Clayton?” She faced her ‘prison warden’ and an obvious fake smile contorted her face.

He acknowledged Mr. Alcott first. “I don’t want to interrupt, but your brother accepted my offer. Officially. I thought you would wish to know.” Her jaw clenched. “The Rynald family grows and it pleases me.”

Of course, it pleased him. He had both at his disposal and neither of them stood a chance to escape his control. She prayed after her year was up she could escape to a different job with less growing pains than before. “I’m not in the mood for your faux politeness and veiled threats, Clayton. You hurt my brother, your associates will never find your body.” She walked away and left the hanging threat between the two gentlemen.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “We’ll discuss your threat later.”

“No.” She turned. “We will not.” Flipping him off, she mounted the steps two at a time and checked over her shoulder out of paranoia.

Safe in her room with the food and new clothing, she checked her text messages. Nothing. Neither Ghost nor Ben replied.

She should just tell them the truth.

Her fingers tapped out half the message before she canceled the message.

If she told them the truth, Clayton Rynald and associates would make them disappear.

She almost threw the phone in frustration. Grateful her mother wasn’t here to witness her nightmare of a ‘career’ start, Callisto unbagged her purchases and clipped the tags off. “Here’s to tonight.” She mumbled unhappily.

A brief knock at the door disrupted her anti-celebration.

Praying it wasn’t a loaded handgun, she inched the door open. “I’m not in the mood, Archibald.”

“You don’t have to work on the site. I’ll have someone else help.” He said.

She eased it open another couple inches. “Okay.”

“You’re safe here.”

“Archie, I have dinner with Mr. Alcott tonight. Even if your cousin isn’t pulling the trigger, someone else will. I’ll know too much.” She explained to him as calmly as possible. “My best possible outcome to this is that I’ll be stalked the rest of my life by a paranoid Clayton Rynald. That’s not including what may or may not happen to Ben.”

He folded his hands. “Which is why…I was hoping you would say yes to dinner with me. If we’re interested in one another, which you are – your eyes give you away.” She blushed and bit her lip. “Until Clayton ends the contract, we can…put up a front.”

“You are aware he has cameras all throughout the house, right?”

Trap. Walk away now. Don’t make it more complicated than it needs to be. Do it now, Callisto.

He smiled and her stomach twisted. “I may have disabled the feed to the second floor. For his own good.”

“Archibald. You don’t need to- “

“I want to.” He cleared his throat and fidgeted. “So, dinner? I’ll pay.”

She chewed her lip. “It’s a bad idea and your plan will unravel faster than you realize, but sure. Whatever makes you feel better about this entire mess.” She was tired of weaving through different people doing her best to survive them. “I have to go to the dinner tonight with Mr. Alcott regardless of your plan, and I need to talk to Lisa about the dinner for Ben.”

“Can I help? Lisa will listen to me.”

She shook her head. “Your efforts are adorable, but you’re as transparent as a clean glass. My advice – stop trying. Your cousin will just find ways to hinder your progress. He’s an asshole and assholes don’t care about others. But you know this.”

“I’ll talk to Lisa and arrange a dinner for your brother.” He promised.

“Archie. I meant what I said to your cousin. I don’t care what the cost is to me. I have nothing left. If anything happens to Ben, Clayton will go missing.” She closed the door and locked it. Pressing her forehead to the door, she closed her eyes and tried to relax.

She meant the threat, and it scared her because she never wanted to kill someone as much as she wanted to kill Clayton.

Callisto Carter wasn’t a vindictive evil bitch. She wasn’t!

If she needed to protect Ben, she would.

Pushing all the troubles out of her mind, she cleared her head and then tried on the coat again. It fit just right, and with a little more exercise, she’d look like a potential model in it – provided she wore shapewear to manage the stubborn pudge around her hips. The black dress hugged her body in all the right ways and flared out at the hips. With no underwear line to worry about tonight, she only worried about how much more make up she might have to wear. She didn’t like wearing it daily because she liked her natural skin better.

Putting both the dress and coat on and pairing it with her heels, she thought about how to style her hair and if she should buy jewelry now that she could afford it.

Putting it all away and sliding into a pair of jeans and her black running shoes, she chose a pastel floral blouse to ‘dress up’ the casual look purely out of respect for Mr. Alcott and Mr. Wyche.

Akon’s ‘Smack That’ ringtone caught her off guard and she almost tripped over the bed to answer. “Ghost.”

“Sorry I haven’t been answering…Moved to a new city. Can’t say where yet.” Something slammed in the background. A door maybe?

“Good. I don’t want to know. Lawson and all that.” She glanced at the door and really wondered if Archibald had disabled the camera feeds to the second floor. “But you’re safe?”

“As can be expected. The old gang put a hit out on me, but it’s all good.”

She buttoned up her coat. “Take care of yourself.”

“Just stay out of town next purge. You’re on their hitlist. I already warned your comrades.” He said. “Ben has a new job lined up. Thought you should know.”

She already learned through Clayton not too long ago. She appreciated the second heads up, nonetheless. “Thanks. Hey…take care of yourself. I have to run but text me. I need someone to talk to.”

“What about Layla and Rory?”

“I’m…not talking about it. Later, maybe.” She pressed her hand to her forehead and felt the guilt. She ought to try and talk to them. Layla’s pregnancy issues and her boyfriend threatening to leave prematurely ended any bitching and confession session. Rory wanted to know what happened when they separated on purge night and praised Ben’s bravery too much for Callisto’s comfort. Callisto wasn’t ready to tell her the truth, so ‘silence’ reigned between them. “Later.” She hung up and hoped that Ghost found himself in a better situation than the last one.

They dated as kids, a brief two weeks in third grade, and then they hung out as teenagers. Ghost found crime, she stayed true to her education. They talked here and there, but they weren’t the best of friends. Things changed, though, since they collectively pulled together in the wake of death and destruction.

Roaming through the house with no mission on mind, she stopped by the home gym and discovered Archibald in a wife beater and basketball shorts. “So, I was thinking about dinner.” She cut the silence purposefully.

He nearly dropped the dumbbell on his foot.

Inwardly she celebrated but outwardly she tried to appear as calm as possible. “I figured that you said you were paying we could try out one of the places in the nearby town. I’ll let you pick. I’m tired of this house and I could use a bit of ambient noise that isn’t Clayton or Lisa.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” He answered as he leaned over to pick up the black dumbbell. “Could you grab the medicine ball for me?”

She picked up one of the ugliest weightlifting things ever. “Why don’t you just use a kettle ball. I think that’s what it’s called.”

He shrugged. “Tried it. Wasn’t to my preference.”

“Let me guess…you think yoga is a waste of time too.”

He smirked. “You don’t look like the yoga type to me either.”

She was half tempted to lie and say she dabbled in Pilates when she knew for a fact she did not. “When you’re poor, yoga is the last thing on your mind.” Relieved of the medicine ball, she stepped back. “What’s the British thing to say? Cheerio, mate.”

With the awful accent and painfully simulated tipping of a hat, she backed out of the gym. She wasn’t even sure if it was British, and she was certain she pronounced it like the cereal brand and not the actual phrase. Oh well. They needed to flirt somewhere where people could see and hear them. She would have tried sneaking back into the gym to see if he smiled but crossed paths with Mr. Wyche first.

“Scuse me.” She tried to slip past.

Something in his eye stopped her. “You should be careful with what you say to Clayton Rynald. People disappear when he wants them to.”

Her jaw twitched. “I’ll bear that in mind next time he’s an asshole pushing buttons he shouldn’t.”

“I don’t think you’re understanding me, Miss Carter.” He leaned in so close she smelled the tobacco on his breath. “You may not be the person he intends to kill next purge night, but you are still his enemy.”

“And here I thought we were the best of friends.” She snapped sarcastically.

His hand curled around her arm and nails pinched skin. “I have known greater enemies to fall before his will than you. I understand your position is difficult to hold your mask in place, but for your safety and your brother’s you must control your tongue. Trust me. I am merely trying to help you breathe another day. Still it.” He removed his hand, apologized, and walked off toward the library.

War it was, she decided vindictively.

Turning back around she lounged in the doorway of the home gym. “Hey, Archie.”

“I saw you that time.” He grinned and pointed at her.

She smirked. “Dinner – how about tomorrow?”

He opened his water bottle. “Not that I’m complaining, but why?”

She shrugged. “Well, I know I told you it was a bad idea if we fraternized, but lately I’ve been infamous for making bad choices. So, if I’m following the trend, I may as well embrace it wholeheartedly.”

“Callisto- “

“You’re not a bad choice. All of this- bad choice.” She assured him. “But you – neutral ground.”

He winced. “Just neutral ground?”

“I’m sort of in a dark place right now. Everything is either falling apart or about to fall apart. Be glad that I called you neutral ground.” She picked at her nails and thought about getting fake nails, then she realized on purge night she’d break them, making the upgrade null and void. “Besides, if it doesn’t work out, I could just be the ‘American fling’.”

“I think I’ll pass on the dinner tomorrow.” He capped the bottle and rolled his wrists.

“Okay, but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” She wasn’t going to shove him into his own plan. If he wanted her to participate, he would find her.

Making herself comfortable on the back porch, she put the finishing touches on her proposal. Ordering the new curtains, furniture covers, throw pillows, and carpets, she chose carefully from suppliers who manufactured in the U.S. She laid out the color scheme for each room and included a simulated picture of the room after the changes. Reusing all the furniture in the house appealed to her more than pointlessly buying new furniture.

Before she clicked ‘send’ on the email to Archibald, she thought about the what-ifs again.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I miss you, and I am so so sorry I couldn’t be better.” She almost cracked and inhaled sharply. Clayton probably caught that on camera too. Damnit.


	5. Chapter 5

Mr. Alcott met her at the foot of the stairs and held out his arm.

He dressed for the occasion, a gray silk tie reflecting the hallway light. “After today’s events I have decided we will have our own dinner here. If you would follow me.” He turned her toward the back yard.

In the middle of the open grounds in the gazebo a candlelit table waited for them. Mr. Alcott held the chair for her. She watched him curiously, very aware of her encounter with Mr. Wyche and the cautious withdrawal of Archibald Westfield. She needed to tread carefully if she wanted an easy existence until next Purge night.

“I feel overdressed.” She joked.

He gestured at her head to toe. “You’re perfectly dressed.”

She cautiously removed the overcoat and instantly regret it. The cool air prickled her exposed arms. Deciding to ride it out, she returned the smile. “Thank you. May I ask what changed your plans?” Already she scrambled to find a way to refuse potential sexual advances.

He unfolded his napkin and laid it out on his lap. “I wanted a sincere conversation with you.” He shared. “I know you value the truth.”

“Sincere in what manner?” She asked carefully.

“You’re in the middle of a war that is not your own. A war that has touched on your own wellbeing.” He stated vaguely. “Wine or champagne?”

She squirmed. “Neither. I prefer non-alcoholic drinks.”

“Because of Clayton.” He looked her in the eye and stated it matter-of-factly.

She froze. “How much do you know?”

He looked her in the eye. “Mr. Westfield educated me. He’s also said you’re attempting a dangerous plan. I must caution you against challenging him.”

Lisa walked toward them with a tray of drinks.

Her lip twisted. She couldn’t recall if Mr. Alcott called Archibald by his first name, therefore she didn’t know how to judge. His civil tone dampened her anxiety.

“I’ll bring you a shawl.” Lisa promised Callisto and then left the table to their loaded conversation.

Mr. Alcott handed over a glass of water. “As I predicted.”

She eyed it up suspiciously and loathed his lack of smugness. She’d loathe his smugness even more if he were smug about that piece of knowledge.

“As I said, if you intend to face off with Clayton, it will end poorly.” He reinforced and leaned forward. “He’s third in command and has access to regional resources.”

“What you’re saying is that I’m a dead woman.”

“No.” He shook his head. “He fully intends to kill Sienna.” He said without frills. “He has no intention of killing you. If you continue your path, you too will perish after Purge night.”

She tasted the water. It tasted perfectly fine, except filtered.

“I like your fire. I do not wish to see you harmed.” He surprised her. She did not doubt the genuine concern lifting his voice. Lisa returned with a gray shawl and draped it over her shoulders. “Ms. Thomas, please bring the food.”

“My pleasure.” Lisa smiled at them and abandoned them to lightning bugs and the pretty scene.

Callisto finally fixed her napkin. “How do you suggest I survive him when he constantly antagonizes me?” She asked in resignation. “He’s holding my brother as blackmail against me.”

Mr. Alcott studied her. “I know. It’s difficult. I would advise you to ignore him. Pursue Mr. Westfield. Enjoy yourself, within limits. If you give him the privilege of seeing you break, he’ll push you to nothing. He’s done it before.”

Her jaw locked. “Easier said than done.”

“Everything is easier said than done.” He said. “Genuinely ask Mr. Westfield if he wishes to have drinks with you. I guarantee he’ll say yes.”

She scrutinized him. “Why are you trying to help me?”

He motioned to Lisa, who carried two plates of cooked salmon and sides of baked potatoes. She promised dessert after they finished the main course. Callisto glanced over her shoulder and wondered if a camera captured their conversation.

“I don’t like innocents caught up in the warfare. It’s difficult enough to conduct business without casualties.” He answered. “I have a firm hold over my people, and I can not risk the exposure.”

She floored.

“Please speak your mind.” He insisted ever so politely.

Her mouth moved but no words came out until she cleared her throat twice. “You’re the regional.”

He gestured. “One could say that.”

“Mr. Wyche is number two.” She guessed.

Mr. Alcott appeared conflicted. “A beautiful mind should not dwell on such topics.”

It landed in her lap like a grenade. Instead of going off, the grenade turned into a dud. “With all due respect, I can’t stand behind your business ideas. As a survivor, it’s – I can’t. I don’t have a substitute, but- “Words failed her again and she huffed.

He motioned to her food. “As I said before, I understand. Please. Eat. Ms. Thomas is a wonderful cook.”

Digging into the fish with a knife and fork, she couldn’t stay focused on the food. She placed her utensils on the plate. “Can’t you stop him though? From dragging Ben here?’ She pleaded.

“Would you wish to owe a debt, Miss Carter?” He asked seriously.

She blinked. “That would depend on the debt.”

“Then you don’t want my interference.”

“Hypothetically speaking- “

He leaned inward. “Once you’re in my family the only way out is blood.” He answered flatly.

She considered him seriously. “What is the price to protecting Ben?”

“What you’re asking for will sacrifice your independence. I advise against it.”

Deciding to eat her food while it was warm, she dwelled on the line she wanted to cross. It didn’t bother her nearly as much as she thought it should. Finishing her plate, she dabbed at her mouth and washed it down with the water. After Lisa replaced their empty plates with tiramisu, she finally spoke.

“What’s the price, Mr. Alcott?” She demanded.

He eyed up her. “For the protection of Ben.”

“For the protection of Ben.”

He bowed his head. “Miss Carter, what happened to you was unfortunate.”

“With all due respect, Sir.” She locked her eyes with him. “I have no qualms about sleeping with you, Archie, or being a contact in the states you can use at any time to host people. Hell, I’ll help you on Purge night selling drugs or whatever doesn’t kill or torture people. Ben is the only person I have left to care about.”

His jaw set and the coldness she recognized earlier reappeared. “You would?”

“Yes.”

“Go to bed with me or Archie?”

“Yes.” She repeated with force.

“Be a contact to house someone?”

“Yes.” Was he not listening?

He cocked his head. “Your love is most sincere. I admire that. I’ll make you a deal. No harm will come to your brother and in return you’ll amuse me while I’m in ‘the states’.”

“Am I to understand that means the bedroom?” She clarified.

He nodded once.

“Deal.”

He cleared his throat. “As for Mr. Westfield, he’ll be made aware of our arrangement.” He informed her. “Please finish your tiramisu. Before I do.”

Whether she regret that or not, she demolished the slice of tiramisu and finished off her water. Lisa asked them how the meal was and then ushered them along back to warmth. Mr. Alcott held the door open for her and wished her a good evening. Stumbling into the bedroom minutes later, she wondered what the hell she just agreed to.

Brushing her teeth and showering away the weirdness, she flopped into bed feeling as if the world ran her over and left tread marks on her face. Curling into a pillow, she didn’t even care if the alarm on her phone went off. Sleeping poorly, she woke before midnight with the last memory of Clayton choking her out. Fitfully falling back to sleep, it didn’t last long.

A knock on the door woke her at the crack of dawn.

Opening her door and staring at Mr. Alcott through sleepy eyes, Callisto yawned and checked her breath. “Top of the morning to you.” She yawned again.

“I thought I could accompany you during your walk.” He said cheerfully.

She rubbed her eyes and opened her door. “Come on it. Nothing to hide.” She yawned again and covered her mouth. He entered and side stepped around her. He took in her organized room and gave his vocal approval seconds later. She closed the door and stretched her arms above her head. “I don’t normally walk at the butt crack of dawn, but if you give me a mom- “

He caught her off guard and captured her hands in his. His face inches from her, he waited for her to relax. “I could suggest something else.” He whispered.

She cleared her throat. “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

“Morning breath doesn’t scare me.”

If this were pre-Nathaniel Lawson, she would have kissed him then and there. “Do you have protection?” She asked seriously.

Now that he was this close to her and they were alone in her room, her mind jogged awake. What if she became pregnant or caught an STD? What if Archibald treated her like the enemy after learning about her deal with Mr. Alcott? Why did she care if Archibald valued her company? Why did she even like Archibald?

He backed her into the wall. “I said that you would amuse me, not become a second family.” He held up a wrapped condom. “We’re being smart about this.”

She wished she didn’t share the same roof as Archibald. This just felt dirty.

“May I ask one thing?” She asked.

His body pressed to hers and he slipped the condom between her breasts. “Yes.”

She swallowed hard. “Not that I don’t want to, because goodness knows I need it as much as I need to put a bullet into Clayton right now, but could we avoid any kind of bondage and restraints?” Just asking that made her shiver and flash back to the way Clayton tossed her around while she was restrained in Murder-Central.

Mr. Alcott leaned back. “Any other requests?”

“Use the condom?” She tacked on stupidly.

He backed her into the wall and kissed her. She felt his stiff member through his running pants and kissed him back. For the briefest of moments, she threw reason to the wayside and gave into the primal urges that she ignored since she moved in and watched Archibald work out every day. From wall to bed, Mr. Alcott claimed her body and left both in a sweaty mess.

“We still need to walk.” She informed him as she stared at the ceiling.

He disposed of the condom in the waste basket. Compared to Archibald, his thinner form showed potential of formed abs. An average body with chest hair, Mr. Alcott did not compare to Archibald figure wise, but he was doable, the average man who knew how to rock a woman’s world.

“Since we’re…whatever we’re doing, would it be acceptable if I were to call you by your first name?” She asked awkwardly.

He faced her. “Would it ease your guilt?”

“What guilt?” She lied.

He dropped next to her. “I know you prefer Mr. Westfield.”

She sat upright. “He has more muscle but that doesn’t mean- “

“It’s the way you look at him.” He explained. “You trust him more than anyone else in this house.”

She sighed. “He’s the sincerest, yes. Lisa just thinks I’m going to shoot everyone, and the rest of the servants avoid me. I don’t even speak to the guards, but they always have eyes on me.”

He lifted her chin up. “He’s fully aware of our deal. It displeases him.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” She asked.

He kissed her. “No.”

“Then why-oh. You’re trying to be nice about it.” She said and reconsidered him. “You keep Clayton around because he gets business done and you only tolerate Archibald because he’s Clayton’s right hand assistant.”

“Archibald is the reluctant support. Neither foolish nor ambitious. Trapped. Like you.” He explained casually. “The way Clayton looks at you is the way he looks at those who answer to him. You’re a means to an end. Sienna will die, and you’ll help him see to that.”

She picked at her nails. “Who all has Sienna slept with?”

“Individuals of varying levels of authority.” He answered vaguely. 

“I have a feeling I’m not allowed to speak on any of this.” She cut him off. “Do continue.”

He stared at her. “You might be more useful than I first assessed.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“And you’re using it to your advantage.” He declared. “Intelligent but it will trap you.”

She opened and closed her mouth.

He stroked her cheek. “You believe that because we have a physical agreement that you are now trapped in the grasp of this organization.”

“I figured that I wasn’t escaping this no matter what I did. Once he killed his sister, I was always going to have someone following me around, spying on my internet activity etcetera.” She frowned. “Making bad choices isn’t exactly something new to me.”

He cupped her chin and forced her to look him in the eye. “I will not harm you as long as you hold your end.” Releasing her chin, he redressed. “Onto your morning walk.”

Following his example, she picked out her sweatpants, running shoes, and favorite sweater. Pulling her hair up into a high ponytail, she caught him studying her. “What?” She asked.

“I remember first laying eyes on you and thinking how interesting you would be in bed. Now I know what you sound like when you- “

She rolled her eyes. “Give a man a chance to dip his wick and he loses his head.”

He chuckled. “You weren’t complaining.”

“Let us hope that we didn’t wake anyone.” She shook a finger at him. “Breakfast is definitely going to be interesting today.”

She didn’t look forward to everyone acting weird or confronting it head on. She damn well didn’t want to suffer Archibald’s disappointment, because on some level she genuinely liked him as a person. She didn’t know why because he didn’t lift a finger when Clayton was torturing her, but a part of her wanted to believe there was genuine good in him. And she believed that wholeheartedly.

He handed her a second hair tie. “I’ll handle the conversation.”

“More like direct or quell.”

“Perhaps. I’ve learned the more rope you provide people, the more they hang themselves.” He looked meaningfully at her.

She refused to believe he manipulated her into having sex with him for how long? A few times? Years? She really should have clarified that before she said ‘deal’. “Meaning?”

“Nothing of consequence to you.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Let’s go before I decide a second turn in the bed is called for.”

“One of these days I should just hit the treadmill. Might get in shape faster.” She wiggled out of his arms and opened the door as gently as possible. No one in view, she made for the steps as fast as possible. She thought she made it to the front door without being spotted until Lisa poked her head out of the kitchen and said hello. Mr. Alcott said ‘Good Morning’ back and they were out in the fresh morning air.

She hit the gravel at a fast pace and hit a light jog minutes in. Mr. Alcott jogged beside her easily. Forced to a stop fifteen minutes in the jog, she caught her breath and clutched her aching side. He jogged in place next to her.

“How?” She clutched her side in pain.

“When people try to kill you.” He answered and checked his watch. “We can finish this. Another ten minutes. I have faith.”

She didn’t have faith in herself. Taking a deep breath, she turned back around and started back for the house with beads of sweat on her chest, forehead and arms and legs pulsing with newfound life. Running shoes felt like lead weights, and she nearly tripped into the house caught only by the fast thinking of Mr. Alcott with Lisa, Clayton, and Mr. Wyche as witnesses.

“He-can jog. Me-not so- much.” She explained as she pulled away from her new lover and clutched her side. “Fuck…I need a drink.”

“Water.” Lisa ordered and promptly fetched a cup of it for her.

Mr. Wyche cocked his head in question and Mr. Alcott stretched his arms. “I feel awake.” He announced to the individuals. “Nothing like a morning’s jog to move one’s pulse.”

“Same could be said for other activities.” Mr. Wyche said pointedly.

Callisto ignored them both and accepted the water thrust toward her. She gulped it down and handed the empty glass back in full thanks. Wiping the sweat off her forehead, she felt great and awake, but her body threatened to shut down if she dared to do anything more exerting than showering and eating breakfast.

“Archibald is in the gym.” Clayton informed them. “Working out his issues.”

Her cheeks colored. Damnit. She knew there was going to be fall out, but better for her to address that later rather than now. “He needed to work off the extra calories anyway. Too many cheat meals.” She replied breezily. “I honestly have no idea how he can count his calories as religiously as he does.”

They stared blankly at her.

“He talks about it all the time. You don’t listen?” She challenged Clayton.

Clayton shook his head.

“Oh, right. It’s always about you. I forgot.” She said sarcastically. “I’m showering first. I can eat a late breakfast in the kitchen if breakfast is over by then. I have the proposal for you to sign off on. Just give it a watch, think on it, and then get back to me so I can tell Archibald what to order and who to hire.”

He nodded and cocked his head to Mr. Alcott curiously.

“It helps to understand people before ripping them apart, Clayton.”

She didn’t hear the rest nor did she want to. She liked Mr. Alcott for what he offered her and as long as the sex was satisfying, she didn’t care if he was using her.


	6. Chapter 6

He wanted to surprise her with the orange tabby kitten. He planned it perfectly too.

He’d pick up the kitten from the owner’s house, buy it a cute collar with a bell that jingled, and then bring it home and hand it directly to her.

Was. Stuart Alcott ruined that the moment he informed them of the deal he made with Callisto Carter. Clayton shifted gears internally, and Archie didn’t need an interpreter to know that his cousin wanted to murder the man. Mr. Wyche feigned ignorance or legitimately failed to read the signs Clayton presented in gaudy glaring lights.

Archie shouldn’t have thought about Callisto so freely. A prisoner never made a good lover. Clearly, she picked someone higher in status, and he needed to accept that.

However, he paid for the kitten and he wanted something to cuddle if he couldn’t curl around a pretty woman.

He drove the half hour to the farmhouse and picked out the orange tabby he first saw four weeks prior. As the rest of the litter climbed his leg, he curled the kitty in his arm and nuzzled its nose. It batted at him playfully, and he didn’t regret buying Callisto Carter a cat for a single moment. She needed the cat as much as he did.

An hour later and one kitten ready to claw him to pieces, he entered Clayton’s house in a much better mood. “Callisto!” He called out.

Lisa poked her head out of the kitchen.

“Is that a- “

He pressed a finger to his lips. “A surprise.”

Whoever she chose, he wasn’t going to hold it against her. She needed to find safe ground, and Stuart Alcott was as neutral as she was going to achieve in these strange times.

She marched from the back porch, hair swinging in a high ponytail. “I’m not in the mood- “

The kitten meowed, and she stared at its head peeking out from his arm.

“Archibald?” She demanded.

He held it out, the glittery pink color standing out. “I know it’s not male, but we’ll get it fixed once its old enough. She needs a name.” It tried to climb out of his hands, and her head cocked right before she claimed the bundle of fur and claws. “I don’t think Butterball is an option, but maybe Butterscotch?”

“That’s a perfect name…” She whispered and buried her face in its fur. He saw the watery eyes and pitied her. “Butterscotch.”

Lisa watched them jealously. “I want kitten time.”

“Butterscotch is so cute.” Callisto cooed before handing it over to Lisa.

His eyes were on her, not the cat or Lisa. She held herself together, but he recognized the fraying seems and flaking mask. One couldn’t be invulnerable forever, and with the added threat of her brother being under Clayton’s thumb, he didn’t blame her for cracking. He didn’t want to see Clayton rip her apart like he did former associates and every ex-lover left in the dust of his rising rank.

He crossed his arms. “So, you and Stuart.”

“So that’s his name.” She remarked.

“I can’t tell you what to do. But he’s- “

“I know he’s high ranking, Archie. That’s why I slept with him. It’s the only way to keep Ben safe. And if I keep him happy, I’m safe. Your word, Clayton’s word, it means nothing. But his – his has weight. I’m not dying next March, Archie. If that means that I have to spend personal time with someone who isn’t muscle bound and on Clayton’s leash- “She stepped back as soon as she said it and breathed. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have said that. Point is Mr. Alcott is my protection.”

The crack about the leash stung, but she was right. Clayton kept him close and only let it loosen on occasion.

“And I’m the amusement.” She lifted Butterscotch out of Lisa’s arms. “Thanks for the kitten, but I am by no means ready to be anyone’s friend.”

He watched her ass as she mounted the steps with the kitten.

“Try someone else.” Lisa suggested. “She’s not exactly available.”

Was Lisa jealous of Callisto?

“This is not your business, Lisa.”

“You’re thrusting me into the center of a war. Wars have casualties. You should know that. Trust me. She may be pretty and blonde, but there are other women out there.” Lisa advised before returning to the kitchen.

He hated his cousin right now.

Righting the balance just threw it off even more. What if he tried to expel her from the home? No, Clayton would expect that.

He waited until Mr. Wyche and Mr. Alcott met with likeminded individuals based in the states. Clayton relaxed on the back porch. “Avoiding the bosses?” He asked lightly, tightly coiled within.

His cousin glanced at him. “The only time you seek me out is to ask a favor.”

“Not every time.” He protested. “Occasionally I just want to get drunk with you.”

He chuckled. “Americans are lightweights.”

“And the Irish still put you under the table.” Archibald joked. He breathed and let himself hope, perhaps believe the plan might work. “Are you aware that the entire reason your prisoner is sleeping with Mr. Alcott is for protection from you?”

“I’m flattered.” He said over his can of beer. “Is she aware he gutted a man once over a petty insult?”

“No, and I don’t intend to tell her.” Archibald said, more uncomfortable than before. “You don’t intend to kill her, yes?”

Clayton glanced at him, annoyance clearly contorting his face. “I gave my word, I’m keeping it.”

He hated the way his thoughts drifted. “You didn’t promise to not harm her.”

The silence lingered between them and Clayton shifted in his chair. Archibald waited and waited, but no answer came immediately. His cousin appeared relaxed, a potentially positive sign. “You care about her.” Clayton finally said.

He liked Callisto. An overprotective sister who would do anything to survive in a cruel world and keep her brother out of harm’s way appealed to him much more than the supermodel with fake breasts and pretty teeth and ten pounds of makeup.

“I think she is a sincere, beautiful person who shouldn’t be a pawn in our dirty games. There are plenty of people who deserve to be drawn and quartered, but she isn’t one of them.”

“Are you asking for a reprieve for her?” Clayton asked bluntly.

His throat clenched and chest constricted. “What I’m asking for is a little space. She’s clearly ready to snap. If she snaps too hard, she’ll be the one gutted and left in a ditch and then where will you be? Who will lure in Sienna and distract her from your masterplan?”

Not that he wanted Sienna to die either. Clayton’s expectations reached sky high, even as a teenager, and his sister acted out purely because of the condescension directed at her. He thought Sienna needed a time out, but she wasn’t beyond reprimand.

“I know you want to kill Sienna, but you don’t need to kill Callisto too. Callisto did nothing to you.” Archibald said. Sensing he overstepped his cousin’s patience, he stood up. “She’s not the sort to hunt you down and tear you apart. Maybe you should give her the same courtesy.”

He passed the next two hours lifting weights and running several miles until fatigue threatened to drop him to the ground. Mopping the sweat off his forehead, neck, and chest, he downed water and dragged himself to the shower expecting another spiteful dinner. Checking his email and reviewing the proposal Clayton forwarded him, he approved the costs for the supplies and ordered them with Clayton’s business card. A quiet dinner unsettled him. Callisto said nothing to Clayton or himself and Mr. Wyche asked what her brother’s strengths were. She answered vaguely, deferring the answer to Benjamin himself. Mr. Alcott and Clayton discussed the costs to set up the warehouse and surrounding grounds with little fear of Callisto tearing down their bloody plans.

He watched her closely and shifted his attention when Mr. Alcott asked him if he was pleased with the progress of the business assets.

“The building and grounds are suitable to what the organization wishes to accomplish.” He answered, glancing at Callisto. She studiously avoided looking at him and stabbed at her food with extra umph. “We’ll have to build up the wall, create a procedure to prevent any escapees, and order the surveillance technology to ensure that we can stream everything and then offer the footage after for a price either through subscription or a one-time purchase cost.”

Mr. Alcott turned to Callisto. “You are dismissed if you wish to not hear this.”

She inhaled. “It’s fine.”

She didn’t sound fine and Archibald wanted to shake her.

“I think we’ll break ground soon after we arrange the contractors.” He said. “Clayton is going to view it next week with the interior planners.”

Callisto exhaled.

Mr. Alcott switched his attention to Clayton Rynald. “I want to be present.”

“I would not deny you the pleasure.” Clayton answered.

(POV swap)

Listening to the men discuss the new grounds upset her but she overcame as she realized their enterprise would fall too. Just like Danny got offed in the end, they would too. She resented Archibald for being kind and caring and considerate toward her. She wanted to hate him. She needed to hate him, so she didn’t catch feelings for him. Instead she found her eyes preferring him and asking the what-ifs. Mr. Alcott, a perfectly acceptable man to have in bed, lacked the presence that Archibald commanded. 

What was wrong with her?! She mentally kicked herself until her mental shins begged for mercy and tried to relax.

They touched on cost and what was more important to build first, but at the end, she already pictured the warehouse and its property in final build. Much like Danny’s creation, private murder rooms would take up an entire floor, second or third because they couldn’t decide yet. The first floor would be dedicated to the murder maze, an interior designed like an office building except more open and much more suitable to withstand gunfire. The potentially third floor was a luxury lounge for the many clients and organization members who wanted to be present that evening. Callisto thought that if anyone were daring enough to attempt it and succeed the bulk of their organization would be wiped out in the span of twelves hours. Foolish, but she wasn’t going to discourage their stupidity and she hoped their rivals tried it.

The outside grounds would host a grass hedge maze, which she thought was interesting even if the gruesome purpose for it went against her morals, and a shooting range where live targets would be ‘available’ for anyone wanting to practice their aim. A large wall would surround the entire area, and the defense of it all would depend on guards, automated defenses, surveillance technology, and trained dogs.

While she wanted to help design the interior of the lounge, she’d feel tainted if offered the job. She cringed as Clayton took inspiration from Danny and listed the many torture tools Danny placed in the room to be used against her. Thankfully, no one turned to her and asked her opinion on the subject of torture, otherwise she might’ve run from the room and locked herself in a bedroom with no escape other than a broken leg after climbing out a second story window. She couldn’t afford an injury that severe right now.

“You look ill.” Mr. Alcott rubbed her back.

She stiffened. “Flashbacks.” She said honestly and glanced at Clayton. “Which I’d rather not speak of.”

“Of course. Wine or water?”

“Water.”

He filled her glass for her and briefly massaged her shoulder with one hand. She wanted to believe he was a good guy, but no one reached the top without losing a little blood and bleeding someone else. “What would you suggest we add, Miss Carter?”

She met Mr. Wyche’s sharp stare and swallowed hard. “I think you have all forms covered at the moment.” She said and reached for her glass.

“But if you were to add one more area?” Mr. Alcott pressed.

Her hands clenched on her lap. “Are your clients bidding for people or paying for people regardless of their available money?”

“They are paying for the victims. Bidding only works if you have a large enough audience confined to one area.” Mr. Wyche answered quietly.

She shivered. “I don’t want to know the origin of that answer.”

“I buy antiques at auctions.” Mr. Wyche cut her off before her imagination ran away. “We’re not all murderers and constantly bloodthirsty.”

“I never said you were.” She bobbed her head. “Sir.”

His jaw set. “So, you’re suggesting we should bid people off?”

“No. In fact I abhor the idea of it. But you have shooting people to death while they’re tied to posts, pillars, whatnot. You have private murder rooms with exotic and not so exotic weapons. You have murder maze interior and exterior. The only thing you’re missing is a hunt, which in of itself is risky because your prey could trap you quite easily instead of the other way around and what if they escape? Now they know who you are, where you’re located, what you possess…”

A shiver ran down her spine, and she loathed herself.

Helping the enemy was not permitted under any circumstances. “Forgive me. I’m American. The tongue is loose at times.” She covered up and sipped her water under the scrutiny of the entire table.

“But you wouldn’t turn on us, would you, Miss Carter?” Mr. Alcott asked.

“I’m not that stupid.” She answered bluntly. “Besides, I only have one man I’d want to kill, not the entire organization. You may be partaking in the new American tradition, but you are not the ones who created it. The first purge was a messy, slow building affair that only livened in the second half of the evening. Everyone mourned. And then they passed the amendment shortly after.”

Clayton smirked. “And yet you’ll never pull the trigger.”

“Because I’m not you, Lawson. I don’t target innocent people who have nothing to do with the object of your fury.” She snapped. “However, I am also a realist. If I kill you, Archibald hates me. I don’t want Archibald to hate me. I certainly don’t want to die by your organization’s hand either. I guess that means you live.”

Oh, how she’d stab him over and over and over in the chest and throat until her arm tired. Or maybe expend the entire clip of the handgun, reload, and keep shooting until she ran out of bullets. Drop a grenade in his pants or down his shirt and watch his face twist into the “Oh, shit!” expression before flesh and bone sprayed the room.

But no. Even that was beyond her and she knew it. She couldn’t murder him so creatively.

Callisto Carter didn’t murder people. She protected them, the ones who deserved it anyway. She thought of Mrs. White and hoped that the nursing home was safe this year. One day someone was just going to blow up the vault downstairs instead of walking away bored when they couldn’t kill all the residents.

Mr. Alcott rubbed her back gently and she hated him for being so supportive and manipulative at the same time. Yet she was the one who pushed for this, and she should be ashamed of herself, but she wasn’t ashamed – not truly. This was to protect her brother.

“The fact of the matter, Mr. Wyche, is this – I am an unwilling pawn who wants to survive this entire mess and go on with my life. I’m going to be bitter, pissed off, angry, ready to rip heads off, but I am smart enough to know that I can’t walk away from this clean, happy, and free. I know there are terms, threats, and paranoia. I know that I will never have a normal life again. Regardless of that, I am grateful for the opportunity to have a little bit of extra money. If I’m going to die, I might as well die with a few extra luxuries.”

Archibald looked at her with so much pity she’d crawl under the table if the others wouldn’t think her totally weak. “I don’t hate you.”

“Yeah, well I hate myself.” She said in finally. “I’m going to bed. Is everything approved and ordered?”

If they stalled on her the project, she’d pull her hair out. She needed the distraction more so now than before. Too many people clawed at her nerves and poked at the reflexes ready to flinch.

“Yes.” Archibald said. “You’ll be supervising the progress.”

She bowed to him. “Thank you. At least I can have one successful project under my belt before I die.”

I did it, Mom, she thought bitterly. I’m making money off my career choice.

“Will you join me for a bonfire in the back after you feed the kitten?” Mr. Alcott asked her.

She froze and then forced herself to relax. “I’ll dress for the weather.” She promised cordially. Stopping in the kitchen, she collected Butterscotch’s treats and stomped up the steps unable to contain her frustration with the men around the table. She feared them all except Archibald, and she wanted to kill only one. The other two she could pretend didn’t exist.

If only they’d extend the same curtesy to her as well!


	7. Chapter 7

The absence of Mr. Alcott, Mr. Wyche, and Clayton Rynald granted sweet, sweet relief to Callisto’s nerves for a blessed stretch of seven weeks due to the development of the new property. Clayton ordered Archibald stay behind and look after Callisto.

The contractors arrived to start their work on ‘adding color to the home’. Callisto oversaw their progress and updated Clayton daily with pictures via email. Archibald stayed out of her way for the most part, existing in the gym 95% of the time and the other 5% trying awkwardly to be nice to her. Witnessing it all, Lisa and the staff grew weary of the building tension in the household.

Ben’s arrival relieved the growing awkwardness between them while simultaneously pressing the ‘detonate’ button.

Callisto bear hugged Ben the exact moment he stepped out of the Lexus. He squeezed and lifted her off the ground before setting her back on her feet and ruffing her hair. Callisto introduced Ben to Archibald, Mr. Bromwell, and Lisa before showing Ben the home gym and heavily suggesting that Archibald might be able to show him some tips to put on the extra muscle he sometimes talked about.

Ben threw his arm around his sister and leaned heavily on her. “We need to talk.” He nodded toward Archibald.

“Later.” She shrugged off his arm. “Now go get acquainted with the other guards. And no lip. Seriously, Ben. We’ll talk later.”

Archibald waited until one of the guards, Forest, lead Ben away. “You can’t tell him the truth. The rules- “

“I know the rules, Archie.” She didn’t want to argue, especially when her plans for the home bloomed around her in amazing bursts of color. “But Ben isn’t stupid. And he just recognized you.”

She started to walk back into the house, Archie racing after her.

He caught her arm and spun her around. “What do you mean he recogni- “

She breathed deeply in sheer disbelief at his stupidity. “I was kidnapped, at gunpoint. Ben is my brother, my baby brother, and the only other person in our family that is alive.” She stated empathically and clenched her hand. “You think he wouldn’t remember the faces of the people who kidnapped me?”

He let go of her arm. “And how do you know that he does?”

Her heart raced toward a stroke or heart attack. She laughed, dark echoes rich with mockery at his naivety or stupidity. “He’s my baby brother. Please! I grew up with him.”

“If he says a word or attempts- “

“I know.” She snapped at him. “I’m going to talk to him, okay? He’s my baby brother. I’ll murder this entire household before I let anyone put a finger on him.”

His mouth flopped open and closed helplessly.

“And yes, I know. That lowers me to everyone else’s level here, but quite frankly I don’t give a fuck, Archie.” She marched off and snapped at the maid watching her nervously from the sunroom. The servant hurried to resume cleaning.

She watched Forest, a man fond of beer and toting an armed gun around like a badge, lead her brother around the back yard showing him the borders. He waved at her as she stood on the back-porch arms crossed. She waved back, jaw set, and wallowed in shame and guilt.

She could have told him the truth and kept him away.

She could still drive him away.

She could run off with him now, although they’d have to go in hiding, but at least they would live to see another year alive and well.

She knew that was the wrong path to take. Running away incited Clayton Rynald to chase them. Mr. Alcott and Mr. Wyche would track her down, perhaps torture Ben just to torture her before they tortured her afterwards. Death would become a dream and hope rather than a dreaded outcome in such a case.

Her head throbbed and she stepped back inside. She kicked the wall and immediately regret it, recoiling as her soft toed shoes absorbed the full impact and delivered it directly to her unprotected toes. She hopped around and leaned on the wall. Sucking on her lip, she spotted Archibald walking toward her.

She pointed at him. “Stay away. This is YOUR fault.”

“I was trying to right the wrongs.” He grumbled, holding back several feet nonetheless. “I wanted to fix – to- “

Butterscotch weaved between his legs and purred loudly.

He leaned over and scooped her up. “I wanted to help you!”

She flinched away.

“Why do you have to be so damned difficult?” He yelled.

“Because I was nearly killed on Purge night by your fucked-up cousin, then tricked into working for him! Then you had the gall to drag my brother into the mess!” Her face burned and she clamped her fists under her arms to keep from throwing them at him. “You flirt with me and try to be nice to me, but that doesn’t change the fact you’re related to the bastard. Or part of the organization that has laid it out loud and clear that I will never be free again. You try to make yourself feel better about everything, but that doesn’t change the fact that all of this – including that kitten – is one fucked up mess. And I want no part of it right now.” She stormed past him, rushed up the steps almost tripping over her own feet, and slammed her bedroom door like any properly pissed off teenager would.

Heaving in her bedroom, she whirled around and locked the door before moving the nightstand underneath the doorknob.

Sitting on her bed, she wiped away the angry tears.

She hated men. Men were stupid. English men were especially stupid.

No knocking disturbed her, and she doubted that he’d try to invade her personal space anytime soon.

Curling up with her pillow, she seethed.

How dare he assume Ben wouldn’t remember specific details in a traumatizing situation? How dare he think her brother an idiot!

She punched the pillow repeatedly and reminded herself to calm down and breathe. Center and refocus. Calm down and breathe. Center and refocus. Calm down and breathe. Center and REFOCUS. CALM DOWN AND BREATHE. CENTER AND REFOCUS. CALM DOWN AND breathe. Center and refocus. The last punch faded into nothing as she stared at the pillow sadly.

Nothing mattered. She’d lose every battle she fought because she didn’t have any ground to stand on.

Fuck Nathaniel fucken Lawson aka fucking Clayton Rynald!!!

Throwing the pillow at the door with extra aggression, she wished she had a loaded gun. All she had to do was corner a guard and shoot them dead and then put it to her head. It was that easy.

But then Clayton won, and she refused – REFUSED – to let him win anything else from her. Mr. Alcott and Mr. Wyche, sure, because they ranked much higher in the world than she’d ever aspire to, but the man who abused her because she looked remarkably like his sister – fuck him.

If she shot him, she lost anyway because they’d just hunt her and Ben down and kill them. And then she slept with Mr. Alcott for no reason.

Lose-lose no matter what she did.

She pulled on her hair and breathed. Was she finally cracking? Fuck. She’d have to apologize to Archibald and clean up the mess before he picked her apart further. Pull it together, Callisto. Don’t disappoint your friends and family. Don’t let Danny greet you at the gates so soon.

She thought she heard someone out her room what felt like hours later. Moving the nightstand back by the bed, she inched the door open. An empty hallway mocked her. She looked down to a bare floor, not food as expected, and glanced at the closed doors. Nothing appeared out of place.

Butterscotch batted around a plastic ball with a bell inside it. It rolled toward the stairs, halted, and then was batted over bouncing to the first floor. Butterscotch scurried after it and out of sight.

Her heart fell and she knew she’d have to apologize to him again. She didn’t want to, not now, but soon.

Advancing toward the bathroom, she nudged it open with her foot. “Ben?” She called out stupidly.

Starting down the stairs, she stepped around Butterscotch at the foot of the stairs and started for the front door.

“Don’t even think about it.” Archibald called out from the library. “Ben has training to attend to.”

She backtracked to the opened doorway. “I’m not allowed to talk to my brother?” She demanded.

He glanced up from his laptop. “Tonight, and between the hours of 6 a.m. to 2. p.m. every day unless he volunteers for nightshift, which shifts his hours from 2 p.m. to 10 p.m. or 10 p.m. to 6 a.m.”

Her lip twisted. “Which shift is he assigned to?”

“Daytime. Clayton’s orders. Can’t have you or him running.” Archibald answered bluntly.

Her lip twisted. “So, this is how it is then?”

“You don’t want me to be nice to you and you blame me for this situation. So yes, this is how it will be.” He said flatly. “I’m related to him, therefore not permitted to be held in a different light.”

So much for apologizing. “Right.” She started back toward the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He called out.

She purposefully withheld the answer until the last moment. “Taking a walk, dumbass. Just because I snapped doesn’t mean I’m stupid!” She closed the door with extra effort and started down the lane hoping to shift her mind into a new territory – a neutral territory.

A speed walk turned into an unexpected jog and dissolved into a miserably scattered ending as she approached the house with the new situation tickling her raw nerves.

With Ben at the house and firmly under employment, she couldn’t risk his life, but she refused to be walked over. And she still needed to talk to Ben about what he could and couldn’t do. Or talk about. Or so much as hint at knowing. With all that needed to be accomplished, she feared Ben might step on the wrong nerve.

She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

She really needed to figure out her relationship with Archibald Westfield too. The back and forth killed her spirit.

Callisto Carter slowly died, and nothing she did or said prevented the decay.

She hated them all.

Let it all burn down, money and all.

$70,000 after taxes wasn’t worth this bullshit.

POV Break

Archibald let her walk the lane confident she wouldn’t leave the grounds. She loved her brother, bedded Mr. Alcott to ensure his safety, and threatened to murder the entire household to protect Benjamin Carter. He highly doubted she’d run and risk her brother’s life.

Lisa interrupted his casual viewing of Clayton’s arching plans for the future victims of next year’s Purge night. 

The look in her eyes promised pain. “You have a plan for her, right?” She demanded.

He sighed.

“She threatened all our lives, including yours.” Lisa jabbed a finger at him.

He held up his hand. “She didn’t mean it.” Yes, Callisto most likely meant it, but only if she was pushed to the edge of insanity. And surely but slowly she inched toward that edge every day. “She’s just emotionally charged.”

“I’m not dying because you have a crush on a bitch.”

“She isn’t a bitch. She’s a survivor.” He declared coldly. “And you aren’t going to be targeted. You aren’t a threat to her or her beloved brother, Lisa. Which you would know if you weren’t too busy trying to dive into Clayton’s pants and marrying into ill gotten wealth.”

Clayton dripped in money, money that turned heads but couldn’t buy a title – a title that his cousin wanted so badly he talked about it only when he was drunk and with such conviction that Archibald wondered how he managed to build his own empire without granting himself the title informally.

Lisa’s lips pursed. “If you don’t control her, I’m informing Mr. Rynald of her activities.” She threatened.

He squared off with her. “You do that, and I’ll fire you personally.”

“She’s a threat to this entire household.” Lisa’s eyes welled with tears. “Don’t you care about the servants here?”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, emotionally exhausted and physically needing relief before he lost his mind and cornered Callisto (Why her?!) and laid a feisty kiss on her. “I care about everyone here. Including her. She’s acting like this because she doesn’t want to be here and is here nonetheless because of Clayton. You would act the same way too.”

“Talia is afraid for her life and Alyssa quit because Callisto’s presence here.”

“I’ll say it one more time.” He raised his voice. “The real threats here are everyone except Callisto. You leave her alone; she’ll leave you alone.”

She backed away. “Mark my words, Archibald, mark my words.” She warned him.

Lost in the lose-lose situation he found himself in, he swallowed his pride and anger. He said that Callisto wasn’t allowed to interfere with her brother, not that he couldn’t.

He exited the house and tracked Ben down to the guard house back porch facing the woods. He dropped into a chair next to the eighteen-year-old cleaning a handgun, along with four other handguns. “Hazing?” He asked lightheartedly.

Ben rolled his eyes.

“Archibald Westfield.” He held out his hand.

“I don’t need your name to know you’re off limits.” Ben cut him off. “What do you want?”

He should have expected this, especially after Callisto warned him. “Your sister already lectured me. I don’t need another lecture.”

Ben looked up devoid of emotion. Archibald sensed it wisely disguised as detached sharpness. “I repeat, what do you want from me?”

He kicked his feet out. “Peace. I have two women at my throat, and I don’t need the brother of one plotting my death as well.” He answered.

Ben raked the barrel with the wire brush back and forth several times and held the barrel at eye level toward the light. “I know what you did to my sister.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“You didn’t try to stop it, so you’re just as culpable.” Lowering the weapon, he scanned his spread of cleaning kit tools and supplies.

“It wasn’t me.” Rage welled in his chest and he wanted to strangle the younger man.

Ben looked him in the eye. “And yet you still did nothing while he tortured her. She was drunk, Westfield, when she told me everything. Black out drunk. Didn’t remember a thing the next morning. Made me swear not to tell her friends, her friends who noticed she changed.” He placed the piece on the center table next to the firing pin. “She’s my sister. MY sister. I should kill you where you sit.” His voice shook and the detached cracked.

Archibald clenched his hands. He owed Callisto…an apology she’d ignore and berate? No. He owed the family freedom, but it was too late now. “I’m sorry. I should have done something.” He grit his teeth.

“Too little too late.” Ben brushed him off coolly.

“Why are you making this hard?” He demanded. Like brother, like sister.

A cold fury swirled in the depth of the brother. “Let’s not pretend I’m being paid well for this shit job while Cali and I suffer under your cousin’s thumb.” He dropped the tool and cleaned the interior with a cue tip.

He almost moved to his feet in haste. Stubbornness anchored him to the chair. “Yet you’re here.”

“I was offered a pay raise and a job that was depression-proofed.” Ben argued.

Archibald shut up because he and Ben were in the same position – held in a position against their will and likely against their morals but unable to leave the position. They represented different sides of the coin, and it should make their communications easier except it didn’t. How does one confess to the other that they were equally miserable with the circumstances without endangering their own protected position?

“I was aware of who you were the moment I laid eyes on you.” Ben announced sharply. “By then it was obvious who controlled what. Americans aren’t stupid. We may be fat, gluttonous pigs, but we aren’t stupid.”

He started to argue with Ben and stopped. “You’re upset with us. I understand that. If you want to protect your sister- “

“-I should listen to you?” His tone shifted from angry to dangerous. “What makes you special? You’re just the cousin he orders around. The guards warned me already. I’ll follow the rules, learn the job, but otherwise, we aren’t friends. We’re not even _friendly_.”

The point slapped him hard, and he accepted the ice-cold reception. “I’ll let Callisto know you’re free for the evening.”

“No more hazing?” Ben demanded sarcastically. “I thought that was your cousin’s orders.”

Archibald’s jaw tightened. “Enjoy your stay.”

“If my sister doesn’t put you on your ass, you can let her know I’ll be cleaning everyone’s weapons because they’re lazy assholes.” Ben answered flippantly. “And one more thing, Westfield. This conversation – never happened.”

Their eyes connected, and a chill overcome Archibald.

Clayton didn’t know what he dug himself into.

The Carters were going to be the death of the Rynald if Clayton wasn’t the death of himself and his sister.

Archibald decided to step out of the mess if it turned bloody.


	8. Chapter 8

Callisto helped Ben clean the handguns and made a point to suggest that hazing was counterproductive when she handed back the weapons. Ben almost threw away the firing pins out of spite, stopped only by his sense of self-preservation. The following morning Callisto met Ben on the porch at 5 a.m. as planned. They jogged the lane and back with Forest as an escort. Pushing her body to the limits, Callisto slumped over the breakfast table and coughed violently while Ben showered and prepared for his first day on the job.

Archibald watched Callisto throw herself into a website for her work. She posted ads offering a flat fee for consultation and field research based on budget. He admired her determination and plotted his apology loosely.

She played with Butterscotch on and off and acknowledged the staff. After lunch, she walked on the treadmill for an hour before checking her emails on Initiate, a site for independent contractors offering their services to the public. Lisa tiptoed around her and Archibald. Tension always clung to them the moment they entered a room and became the only occupants. Regret lingered in her eyes and pride silenced her. He understood the hesitation because what if they just argued again days from now? The apology would be pointless.

Their standstill persisted, although they shared the gym without argument and managed to make small talk by the time Clayton Rynald returned with his sister.

“Don’t be a wanker, Clay. You owe me the monthly allowance.”

They argued loud enough to be heard from the library. Archibald and Callisto traded looks before putting aside their laptops and creeping toward the open door.

“And you’ll have it deposited after you agree to not whore around with the assigned guards.” Clayton snapped.

Callisto flinched. He sounded mean – not manipulative or plotting.

Archibald placed his hand on her shoulder.

She didn’t dare speak. That meanness turned on her would destroy her fragile happiness. Tired of being bitter, Callisto only wanted her own space.

Sienna huffed. “As if I’d stoop that- “

“You bedded a raw recruit- “

“I did not!”

“I have video evidence.” She turned into Archibald, recognizing that tone. The soft, vicious anger that was scarier than immediately threatening.

Sienna scoffed. A long pause interluded. “Where’s my room?”

“Make the promise first.” He demanded.

Callisto exhaled. She instinctively curled into Archibald and held onto him as the memories ambushed her. A long pause and Sienna swore to not bed the assigned guards. Archibald poked his head out while still holding her.

“Coast is clear.” He whispered.

She reluctantly pulled away. “I almost feel bad for her.” She whispered.

He patted her back. “Don’t worry. That will soon fade.”

“Why is he so mean to her?” She never talked to her brother like that, ever. “Obvious bad blood.”

He pressed her against the door frame. Her heart raced and she hated herself for wanting him. He smelled so damn good and she repressed the urge to kiss him. So strong and ‘good’ and tempting but clearly the person she shouldn’t want.

His lips touched hers and she gave in to the primal lust. His firm form shot a fire through her. Bunching his shirt in her hands, she held him close. Tongues danced and they parted at a single curse as Clayton Rynald missed the last step. He glared at them. Defiantly she yanked and Archibald back down. He cupped her chin and pulled back.

“Later.” He promised.

She smiled at Clayton. “We’re busy.”

“Was busy. Disappear.” He flicked his arm in the opposite direction. “We need to talk.” He pointed at Archibald. Archibald nudged her along in a more solemn manner.

Calllisto retrieved her laptop and sat on the back porch. A client wanted a nautical room design for under $300 and she took up the challenge. She didn’t hear Ben until he plopped next to her.

“You look happy.” He remarked.

She couldn’t properly put it all into words for him, let alone herself. She finally kissed Archibald and it slipped the rug from all her expectations. “It’s complicated.”

“Give me High School again.” He begged of the sky. “The hazing never stops.”

Her brow lifted. “Most likely Clayton Rynald’s orders.”

He kicked up his feet. “I can handle hazing. I’m tired of the fake bullshit.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t have to.” She favorited an item on Amazon and checked off another item to complete the room. “Did I tell you I completed my third design job yesterday?”

“Congrats, sis.”

“Thanks. I probably won’t make much profit though.” She laughed and breathed. “I should probably make my own Facebook page. Initiate is great but not exactly user friendly and the web page isn’t pulling in much traffic at the moment.”

He unbuttoned his dark blue uniform shirt to the middle of his chest and showed off a black tank top. “What are you spending your money on? I have a bad feeling about this job and place. Mom might see us in a year.”

Her lip twisted. “At least we’ll see mom.”

“To silver lining.” He bumped his fist against hers.

“Excuse me, why is the help lounging?” A shrill female voice demanded. “Do something useful.”

Callisto flicked her off.

Ben glanced over his shoulder and double take.

“Lazy yanks.”

Callisto cleared her throat and turned in her chair. She locked eyes with Sienna Rynald. “Last I checked, we’re off the clock. Fuck off.”

Sienna stared hard and blinked. She stepped closer in disbelief. Sienna was a starved plastic version. A crying shame because she didn’t need plastic surgery to be pretty. Callisto flicked her off again.

“Want to take a walk, Ben?” She asked loudly.

“Let me change into casuals.” Ben caught the hint and said and set off for the guard house.

Callisto motioned Sienna to sit. Sienna accepted the nonverbal invitation and took Ben’s seat. They stared at each other as if the other were the pod person.

“This is weird.” Callisto finally said.

Sienna twirled a lock of bleach blonde hair around her finger. “Impossible.”

Tempted to mock her, Callisto hopped up at Ben approaching and walked toward him. Sienna observed them from the chair, lips flattened in clear disapproval. They ignored her and walked the path through the woods the guards wore down. Easy silence fell between them as they relaxed and enjoyed the weather.

Ben pointed out the cameras as they walked along.

“Careful. They might retaliate.” 

“I don’t care. I’m still cleaning everyone’s weapons, covering for those late to shift. No one takes me seriously.” He shrugged it off.

She swatted aside a thorn bush.

“I’m hearing things. It scares me.”

She glanced over at him. “You’re not alone.”

He kicked at a twig and stopped by a tree stump. He tapped his leg twice.

She glanced down and feigned annoyance and knelt. Yanking the laces loose, she looked up at him. “Dark spot?”

He nodded. “They intend to kill us on purge night.”

“Source?”

“Franks and Forest. Thought I was sleeping.”

She tied her other shoelaces. “How?”

He shrugged.

She rose to her feet and dusted off her hands.

“So, you and Westfield…” He asked.

Callisto laughed nervously.

He nodded. “Don’t get too attached.”

“I don’t need a reminder.” She assured him. “Besides Clayton has it out for me. He won’t let me be happy with Archie. Archie’s a good person. Just trapped in a bad position.”

“Like us.”

“Yep.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “Worse though. He’ll never escape this. We will. By eventual death.”

They circled around to the front and cut across the lawn to the front door. Ben parted with her at the door and she entered to Sienna and Archibald in the middle of the hushed back and forth.

“Don’t let me stop you.” She promised them. “I have a client to finish shopping for.”

Retrieving her laptop from the back porch, she already suspected they searched its contents. Resuming her work, Callisto lost herself in her design work. She loved interior design and liked to shop, so the new gig lifted her spirits in these dark times.

She got caught up in her own personal shopping and attended dinner ten minutes late. The chill between brother and sister shut out Archibald trying to suggest a vacation for everyone. She perked up at the idea of going to Bora Bora or Hawaii and hid her excitement.

First Sienna watched her from under her eyelashes. Then Clayton stared right at her. Archibald casually angled toward her. 

She looked up from her half empty plate. “What?”

Clayton clasped his hands and resignation marred his face. “Remember how I said you were to be tasked with additional duties?” She nodded slowly. “Mr. Alcott requests your presence for three weeks- “

She cocked a brow. “I don’t have a passport.”

“The wonders that wealth produces.” He stated dryly. “Pack tonight. You leave tomorrow.”

Her heart stopped.

“Destination- Ireland. Mind your manners.” Something hid behind his words, and she didn’t want to meet the monster lurking in those secrets.

Her jaw twisted. “Wardrobe preference?” She asked lightly.

He breathed as if she offended him. “What you wear is suitable until told otherwise.”

An abrupt bubble of laughter tore from her. Of course, when she made a move she and Archibald would be separated by an ocean! Of all the luck…well, not really. Her luck always ran away from her person since last purge night.

Passport, half her wardrobe, laptop, phone, and her mind running a mile a minute, she downed sleeping pills with a glass of water. Waking at 5 a.m. out of habit, jogging in the gym and showering, she startled Lisa as she made a cup of coffee and lounged in the sunroom, a happy yellow paired with a muted green. Finishing up the job for the client, she added another success to her record.

And waited.

Clayton and Sienna woke late. Ben trained in hand to hand with one of the guards she didn’t know the name of. Archibald popped in quickly and claimed a quick kiss.

“I demand more.” She pouted when he pulled away quickly.

He tilted her chin up. “Be patient. Also…mind your manners.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please look after Ben.” She pleaded.

“I will.” He promised.

She shooed him away. Better to not be tempted.

At 9 a.m. sharp, a knock on the door ushered Mr. Alcott into the house. Dressed down in jeans, leather shoes, and a gray colored shirt, he looked at ease.

“Callisto.” He smiled.

“Stuart.” She waited for a reprimand and when none came, she smiled. “Stu or Stuart?”

He motioned her closer and kissed her. She expected a slap or a chokehold. None followed. “Stuart.” He answered her. “Are you ready?” She nodded.

They walked to the Lexus, the infamous Lexus that she grew to see as a taunt to her freedom. She spared Mr. Bromwell the same slander as he didn’t mistreat her. Archibald loaded her suitcase and sent them off with a wave. Alone in the vehicle, Callisto and Stuart rode out the comfortable tension between them.

Feeling the need to speak, she glanced at him.

He observed her far too skillfully.

She bowed her head again.

“Speak your mind.” He said.

Her lip twisted. “What’s expected?”

He briefed her.

They were taking a jet, not to Ireland as stated but to California. Upon landing they would then travel to private property where Callisto would carry out a job, act as amusement, and act as plus one to an event incredibly important to him. When she asked ‘why me’ he answered bluntly enough that she saw him as the string-pulling villain who cared nothing for her instead of the friend she started to consider him as.

Not that she expected true emotion from him, but it confused her nonetheless. How had she allowed herself to trust him? Liking him, yes, she understood that moment perfectly and commended him for the play on the heat of the moment’s emotions. Trusting him though? What was wrong with her!

“Does this have to do with the fact that I’m Sienna Rynald’s double?” She asked curiously.

He chuckled. “No.”

She sighed. “Oh, let me guess. She slept with everyone, didn’t she?” She asked sarcastically.

He patted her forearm sympathetically.

She facepalmed and breathed. “As you wish.”

“And I do wish.” He purred.

“Just don’t call me Pet.” She asked. “Anything but Pet.”

He kissed her hand. “My Sweet Duck.”

“Stuart.” She squeezed his hand.

He held her hand on his lap and turned his eyes toward the window and passing scenery. “The heat is picking up quicker than I expected.”

She nodded. “Summer usually warm. Not sweltering, but warm enough you can bake if you don’t use sunscreen.” She avoided sunburns expertly and she would have worn more short shorts around the house except she didn’t want to entice Archibald or draw the ‘wrong’ attention from Clayton.

One of the few things she was grateful for was the honor code that Clayton followed. He avoided anything involving sexual assault or rape like the black plague, improving his character without trying. She wanted to hate him to the core, but the man earned due credit.

He smiled at her and tucked her hair back. “You’ll be the perfect front.”

“What?”

“I said you’ll be the perfect front. Pretty, white, blonde. The average lady.”

Her brow cocked. “I’m going to get arrested, aren’t I?”

He squeezed her hand. “We won’t permit it.”

She leaned back. “You’re scaring me.”

“You’ll be fine. You’re a natural.” He assured her.

Mr. Bromwell never once looked back at them as he drove to the private airport and the private jet waiting for them. She fell in step beside Mr. Alcott and walked toward a group of three bearded men. Been there, done that. She relaxed and let the dice roll and land as it may.

One quick smile passed between them, Mr. Alcott, and her before she was instructed to enter first. Soaking up the richness of it all – the smell of leather, the comfortably large seats and flying proofed trays situated conveniently for the traveler, and a well-stocked supply of presumably favorite alcohol and snacks – she walked toward the back and seated herself.

“You’ll join me in the middle.” Mr. Alcott instructed her as he handed over her handbag. “We have much to discuss.”

She rolled her neck and reseated herself across from him and directly next to the window. “I don’t think I’ve flown before.” She said with a ghost of a smile.

“We’ll save you the speech. If we crash look for exits and your seat can act as a flotation device.” He joked with her. The three men made themselves comfortable and spread out as the pilot, co-pilot, and flight attendant prepped for takeoff. “Put your seatbelt on and if you need to vomit up breakfast, here’s a bag.” He offered a paper brown bag from his own seat.

She glared at him. “I’m not that fragile.”

“No, but you don’t take well to people tying you up.”

Her jaw set. “That’s not fair and you know it.”

He bowed his head. “My apologies. I was trying to lighten the mood.”

She doubted that. He pushed buttons and wanted to see if she’d snap out of her comfort zone. “I accept your apology, but I don’t need the distraction. I’m not afraid of flying. I’ve just never flown before. Stuart.” She frowned and opened her handbag to organize its contents better.

Cards. Money. ID. Book. Camera. Battery charger.

Pulling out her book, she leaned back and cracked open her book. She ignored the ever-observant escort and Mr. Alcott in favor of her favorite romance novel, a poorly written and amusing modern story set in the countryside during a snowstorm.

Take me away, Chester, to the arms of a stud with a crush on a local gal, she mused.

Two pages in, the jet rolled down the runway and lifted off in the air and she put down the book as her stomach threatened revolt and she genuinely reached for the barf bag.

“Not so confident.” He teased her.

She closed her eyes and that made it worse.

“Please, not now.” She begged. “I deal with enough issues as is. Can we just not?”

A flight attendant handed her a cup of coke, the ice cubes clinking against the sides. “We have peanuts.”

She thanked the brunette and breathed deeply.

“I suggest relaxing while you can. Once we arrive, we’ll be meeting important people and you’ll have a job to take care of.”

She cocked a brow in her best ‘I don’t give a fuck’ expression.’ And accepted the peanuts and sipped the coke.

He raised his glass to her, and she sighed. “Layer it on. Everyone else does.” She resigned.


	9. Chapter 9

Mr. Alcott grinned ear to ear and shook with light laughter. “This may shock you, but Clayton Rynald is not always aware of the full portfolio.”

She almost smiled.

“Naturally, you will share nothing about this trip.” He tacked on needlessly.

She rolled her eyes.

“You are useful in your own right.” He smoothed out. He read her like a book. She played into his efforts to the best of her ability without sacrificing herself. “I don’t want to lose your talent.”

Her eyes traveled to the other men not hiding their curiosity. “My hatred of the man is known well enough. I’m not going to put a bullet in his head or a knife to the chest. That’s just stupid. I’m also not Hollywood Pretty or willing to sleep around like Sienna.” She hoped he didn’t push the boundaries because she liked him.

He produced a handgun from a leather handbag placed next to him and held it out to her.

She froze. A test? “You know full well I’m forbidden from touching weapons.” She stated.

“I’m more important than Rynald. Take the handgun.” He ordered sternly. 

The weight of the handgun in her palm triggered buried anxieties.

Her eyes flicked around the group. She sensed the curiosity but no fear. “It’s been awhile but yes.” She answered. “May need time at the range to brush the rust off.” Turning it over in her hand, she tested the weight and carefully put it on the side table.

He leaned back. “As a member of our family you are useful. Your unorthodox initiation means we can utilize you for state business.”

“Our family?” She asked. “The only family I have is Ben.”

“Not anymore.”

“I didn’t ask for this.” She gripped her glass and flexed her hand. “We made a deal. A very particular deal.”

He nodded, a blank face answering her. “Wasn’t my decision.”

“How far up does it go? All I want is for Ben to be protected, Stuart. It’s simple. I’m not trying to bring anyone down. I just want to live to the next purge night, and the purge night after that purge night and the purge night after that until I die of old age. It’s all I ask for. Not for a position. Not- “

“It’s not up for debate.” He cut her off. “Another drink?”

“I didn’t even finish this one yet.” She spat out and huffed. “But! Since we’re not taking my vote on anything, what else am I expected to do beside be arm decoration, poster child for California local, and whatever else you tack on that list?”

He bowed his head to her. “You are exceptionally beautiful right now.”

Her brow lifted. “Flattery is unnecessary. You know damn well that the only reason I don’t kill Clayton is because of Ben. And the only damned reason I’m not doing anything right now except raising my voice is because I know there isn’t a damned thing I can do about it.”

He smiled. “Exactly.”

Now she was legitimately pissed off.

“A deal is taking place in Sacramento. Your appearance and lack of accent makes you the ideal person to hand off the goods. What you’ll receive in exchange is a bank account number, which you will relay to us.” He handed over a burner phone.

“That’s it?” She asked skeptically.

He nodded.

She put everything into her bag and cracked open the can. “I don’t like being jerked around, Stuart. It’s not nice. I thought you were nice, but clearly, I was wrong. Next in line is Westfield to disappoint me. Because lately it’s been nothing but fucken disappointments.” She looked him in the eye and leaned forward. “But they’re going to keep pulling strings because they can. Anything happens to Ben, I’ll start with Clayton and work my way to you. I may die quickly but it’ll be worth it.” She raised her coke to him. “To being useful.”

He raised his whiskey to her coke. “To being useful.”

Her brow stayed cocked before she sighed. It was never going to be simple. She should have expected this. “To being useful.” She echoed heartlessly.

The coke went down easy and she stared out the window at the layers of clouds and open skies in part interest part speculation on how much worse her life would downshift. She finished the can without realizing it and glanced over at concerned men and an amused Mr. Alcott. No one spoke and it unnerved her. Did they speak English?

She downed the second coke out of sheer irritation and tried to lose herself in her romance novel and damn near tossed it at him.

He looked her in the eye again. “It wasn’t my choice.”

“I’m learning, Stuart,” She cocked her head. “That trusting people is a hazardous occupation. So just do me the favor and leave me to my book. Maybe, just maybe, my temper will flare down before we arrive in California. And just maybe, I’ll be more ‘presentable’. Until then leave me alone.” She opened the book again, breathed deeply, and stared at the page in overwhelming frustration.

Her temper simmered down a fraction, and the drive from the private airport to the house helped her rearrange her mask into a presentable one. She clutched her phone and texted the Ben to blow off steam, one man having full view on her phone as she texted.

“Why are you cooperating with us?” He asked in a thick Irish accent.

She lifted her eyes off the screen. “Does it look like I have a choice?”

“You have a loaded gun.”

“What good is one gun going to do against four men?” She shot back. “Even if I survived, Ben is in Clayton’s hands. I could have prevented that, but I didn’t. Now I must deal with that bullshit and this bullshit. I’m fucked either way so I may as well try to rob the leprechaun for his gold. Maybe I’ll get away with a coin for a bit before I get shot in the back of the head one random afternoon.”

“Bleak outlook.” He stated.

She grimaced and teared up before swallowing hard. “Gotta do what you gotta do until better options pop up.”

“For the record, fighting this solves nothing.”

“It resolves my conscience.” She looked him in the eye. “And after all this shit, I need the strongest purification my soul can take at one time.”

Mr. Alcott cleared his throat. “Mind- “

“-your manners. I know. Both Rynald and Westfield emphasized that.” She cut him off. “Don’t worry. I know how to put on a mask.”

A mansion confronted them when they pulled through the metal gate. It curved up toward the boxy modern house filled with expensive luxuries and fixtures. They parked under a massive overhanging balcony supported by concrete pillars. She breathed in and out several times before smiling at Mr. Alcott and kissing his cheek, a cold look in her eyes.

Then she stepped out of the SUV with her handbag on her arm. Two men flanked her. She realized she should have asked him why she was forced into this position. Hindsight was 20/20 she mused bitterly. At least the building stunned her.

The endless wall of windows and black curtains shielded the occupants from curious invaders. A front door – an ornately carved double door stained to a mahogany – opened and a butler dressed in black slacks and short sleeved polo shirt welcomed them int the building. Marble floors spanned the first floor. Textured wallpaper threw off sparkles when sunlight hit it and Callisto wondered how avant-garde the rest of the design was. She felt Mr. Alcott’s hand on her lower back and turned toward him.

He nudged her forward.

Her eyes went up to the circular chandelier and its crystals spiraling toward them. Crystal lamp shades covered lamps built into the wall. Light switches cover plates covered in more crystals dotted the walls at intervals. She slowly approved of the gaudiness and the fact the mansion screamed money.

“Stuart.” An Irish accent boomed in the echoes and she backstepped quickly. Mr. Alcott stepped forward toward a man with a cleanly shaved beard and bright blue eyes. They embraced like brothers. “I have a task for you.”

“Brawley. Callisto Carter. Callisto Carter. Brawley Walsh.”

She extended her hand. “Interesting design choice. Crystal, crystal, and more crystal.” She failed to smile.

He beamed. “Must please the wife.”

“A lucky woman.” She shook his hand.

“So, you’re Stuart’s American distraction.” He stated. “Has he briefed you?”

She checked her handbag just to affirm it wasn’t a nightmare. “More or less.”

Brawley Walsh clapped her lover on the shoulder. “After the transfer I need you to keep this man company. Devlin will be visiting.”

Anger ate her alive. Her jaw worked back and forth.

“Are you well, Miss Carter?” Brawley addressed her curiously.

She started. “Yes. Yes, sir.”

He gestured toward the pool. “Welcome to home. Until I no longer need Stuart.”

“Thank you.” At least she’d enjoy the scenery – until they put a bullet in her head.

“Stuart will show you. Your bags will be taken to the room. Until then, admire the home. Feel free to indulge in a drink or two.” He offered but it came off as a heavy suggestion meant to be taken as an order.

She nodded and watched Stuart walk away with Brawley Walsh. Then she stood there stupidly with her handbag, loaded handgun, and the ticking time bomb of resentment and curiosity. She walked through the oddly designed interior and couldn’t quite determine what Mrs. Walsh aimed for.

Aside from a modern building utilizing walls of glass, metal, and concrete with accent walls covered in glittering wallpaper, crystal, and the color black dominated with pops of red and gray. No portraits, paintings, or sculptures appeared anywhere on the first floor. Modern furniture heavily featuring metal and glass furnished the home. Metal railing ornately designed spiraled up to the second floor.

She ended up in the closed courtyard next to the inground pool and slipped her shoes off.

Sitting under the sun, she turned the handgun over in her hands before ejecting the clip. The loaded clip gave her nothing but more trouble. She understood why they gave her the gun, but she didn’t understand why they chose to pull her into the rest of the mess. This wasn’t just Clayton Rynald related anymore.

This was a whole other world of problems.

“Settling in?” A male voice with an Irish accent approached from behind.

She turned and recognized the one who spoke to her in the SUV. “Regrettably.”

He knelt next to her. “It wasn’t his choice.”

“Then why?”

“You’re vulnerable. Too vulnerable. Too smart for your own self-preservation. He has a fascination with you. I’ve known Brawley all my life. Alcott thinks you have potential, and when a man like that sees the potential, Brawley sees the potential.”

“But I didn’t want this.”

“No one does. Until they do.” He bowed his head. “And the threat you made in the vehicle? No one heard it. Never happened. Let’s keep it that way.”

She laughed bitterly. “Since you’re blackmailing me, do I at least learn your name?”

He smirked. “Not yet.” Watching him walk away, she then cursed her bad luck. Emphatically, in fact, until she exhausted every swear word in her vocabulary and made up names to substitute.

It didn’t take long – likely another twenty minutes before a second guard informed her where to find the gentleman. 

“When you are finished here, Mr. Alcott is in the pool room.”

She slid the clip back into the handgun. “I’ll follow you. Just let me put my shoes on.” Minutes later, they plodded toward the house and the number of men milling about clearly armed.

Mr. Alcott plotted his move against Brawley.

They were friends, had to be from their comfort level. She placed the handbag down on a chair by the window.

“Callisto Carter.”

She looked up from the opened handbag.

“Sister of Benjamin Carter. Father and mother deceased. Correct?” Brawley asked. She nodded. “I heard you had an interesting nickname.”

She cleared her throat. “Local nickname only.”

“Protecting elders and people you live with. Admirable.”

She fully faced him. “Is there something you need specifically?”

He motioned for Mr. Alcott to shout already. “No.”

“Are you expecting something in particular?” She suggested.

He smiled. “No.”

“So, you’re feeling out how much of a threat I am.” She stated. “I understand. I’m not here to cause trouble. In fact, I had no idea why I’m here. My theory is that Stuart wants to annoy Clayton but with Sienna at the house, he’s delivered his own punishment.” She lied.

Mr. Alcott grimaced.

“That or I’m proof Sienna had a body double.” She shrugged. “Either way I’m being paid for my efforts.”

Brawley circled the table. “Are you on birth control?”

Her jaw dropped.

“Stuart doesn’t want children.” He explained.

She cleared her throat. “Stuart and I agree on that subject.”

Stuart moved to her side. “Welcome to the family.” She stiffened in his arms. A peck on the cheek passed between them and he returned to the game.

Brawley’s eyes connected with hers.

A grudge match struck in that moment, and the turned back to the handbag. Shoot him now, Callisto. It’s the prime opportunity. Just shoot him –

“You appear conflicted, Miss Carter.”

“That’s because I am. Thoroughly.” She replied seriously. “Overly so. I was taught that organized crime was bad. Awful. Met a few people of objectionable character. Confirmed my beliefs. Met. Mr. Alcott. He surprised me, to say the least, but here I am in a unique position that I don’t particularly know how to respond to.”

She understood in that moment that to test him meant death. Quick, certain death.

He scanned his shot after Mr. Alcott misjudged his turn. “Would you like suggestions?”

She glanced at Mr. Alcott. “I could feign happiness, but I don’t think you’re that foolish to accept the lie.”

“You’re correct.”

“I’d ask when you intend to kill me, but perhaps that’s too soon.” She quipped.

Mr. Alcott made a hand gesture for her to lower the attitude.

“Do not help her, Stuart. I want to see the red come from the blonde. The angrier they are, the more dangerous.” Brawley encouraged.

She watched him lean over and take his shot. “It would be more productive if you just told me- “

“I don’t want a compliant underling. I want an underling who understands their place, Miss Carter.” He finally said.

Her heart wretched.

“You understand your place now.” He gestured to the full wine glass. “Drink with us to your future success. For Ben’s continued well-being.”

She claimed the glass with heaviest of hearts. If they didn’t break her, she was going to go crazy and die trying to off every one of them or off herself. She hadn’t decided which was worse yet, but it bothered. She hated this, herself, and them. Worst of all, Ben had no idea.

“To partnerships.” Brawley Walsh announced.

Her jaw worked. “To partnerships.”

“And success.” Mr. Alcott tried to lighten the mood and miserably failed. “Mrs. Walsh will be most pleased to have another lady in the house.”

Callisto drowned her sorrows in the wine and sat in the corner in defeat.

When no saved you, where were you supposed to turn? Ghosts?

She exhaled sharply. Help me, Mom. Help us.


	10. Chapter 10

She met Mrs. Walsh at dinner and instantly preferred the woman to everyone else. Pretty and redheaded, the Irish lady asked about Callisto’s past and purge night activities while Mr. Alcott and Mr. Walsh listened mildly interested. She answered honestly enough, omitting Rory and Layla, briefly mentioning her ex’s failed murder attempt, and allowed Clayton Rynald a moment of honor.

Mr. Alcott laughed. “His worst move.”

She winced.

“Fool.” Brawley remarked casually.

Her blood ran cold. “I suppose it is foolish.” She said slowly and sized them up. “To be honest, Ben is the only reason I try anymore. Not much left to cling to. Dad was always…absent. Mom died last year. This year but I always call it last year because of the purge night passing. Butterball went missing the same night. Didn’t own anything. Dead end jobs more less low income. I have a feeling Ben will be the only true Carter alive soon enough the way everyone’s yanking the chain.”

She sighed and pushed the leftovers of shepherd pie on her plate. Clink, clink the fork mocked her. Do something for yourself, it said, stop being weak. Defend yourself!

The room quieted enough that she looked up ominously.

Pity contorted their faces. She hated each of them.

“Anyway, I’m the least of his troubles. He’s going to do something stupid to someone who can put him on his knees and make him shut up.” She shrugged.

Brawley cleared his throat.

She bowed her head again. Shut up, Callisto. Just shut up before he kills you. Don’t do something irreversible. Don’t do it. I know you want to tell him to fuck off, but you can’t. You know that. Just shut up.

“Have you thought about your future plans in the states?” He asked.

She put her fork down. “No. I know what Clayton is paying me now…I don’t know what the salary being offered is from your end.” She gambled on Mrs. Walsh knowing about her husband’s leadership and ‘employment’ opportunities.

Mr. Alcott thanked the kitchen help and smiled at her. “You’ll be pleased to learn you’ll afford your own home, among other benefits.” Her brow raised. He listed off the medical, dental, and vision benefits along with the retirement fund she needed to opt into. From $70,000 after taxes to $100,000 before taxes, she forgave herself for begrudging them the barest of forgiveness.

But what was worth $100,000 a year?

She learned that at poolside as Mr. Walsh and Mr. Alcott introduced her to the world of traveling and murdering on demand. If she completed the job, they ensured nothing would ever fall back on her. She doubted their reach and studied the pictures of the dead bodies spread out across the grass.

“No freelancing?”

“Are you willing to risk that?” Brawley challenged her.

She raised a brow. “Just poking the boundaries to see what they are. That’s all.” She collected the pictures into a single stack and handed it back to him. “What’s the next step?”

“No more arguments?” He asked in confusion.

She shrugged in defeat and adjusted her swimsuit to cover more of her cleavage. “I’m not walking away from this mansion as a free woman unless I’m working for you. I’m upset that my will wasn’t respected but given the circumstances, I’ll do what I have to do and make my peace with god, if he’s real, later.”

Brawley clapped her shoulder. Mr. Alcott curled his hand on her upper thigh. She arched a brow at him, and he slipped it further toward her groin. Abruptly, almost at the click of someone’s fingers, Mr. Alcott abandoned the two of them at the waterside. 

The guards watched her, although with less attention than Clayton’s.

She slipped into the water and lounged against the side of the pool. Laying her head on the cement, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the night air.

He popped a champagne bottle. “Thirsty?”

She shook her head.

“Drink with me.” He ordered.

She clung to the side of the pool and accepted the glass placed in front of her. “Is this a warning, lecture, or request?” She asked bluntly.

He smiled softly, although she distrusted that too. “Briefing.”

She grimaced. “Look, I may be mad about a lot lately, but I’m not stupid. I’m not going to try and kill anyone or do anything stupid to endanger myself or Ben. I’m dealing with issues that I need to overcome- “

“You do not need to explain to me why you’re acting out. I already know. If you act against us, I’ll ensure the death of yourself after you witness the death of your brother.” He stated and nodded to her. “This is a briefing only. We need a face for a handoff, and you fit.” 

She sipped the champagne. “Go on.”

“The most important piece of information you’ll need is their account number. Until we get confirmation of the transfer, you’ll stay at the person’s side. There is a chance you may have to defend yourself, but we’ll have eyes on you at all times.”

She nodded along, numb to everything.

He rolled it out. Step by step until the last step as she walked away deal completed. It seemed simple enough. The next day she asked to go on a shopping spree in the city. Escorted by a different guard, also Irish, on her trip to bury the guilt and feel better about selling her soul.

They tolerated the traffic as he flipped through the channels before asking her what she preferred to listen to. She turned it off and closed her eyes.

“Is there anything I can do to ease your burdens?” He asked.

Her soul ached. “Thank you, but no. Any time anyone helps, they make it worse.”

“Like Westfield.”

“You’re informed.” She said pointedly.

“I was briefed.” He sipped water and capped it quickly before switching lanes. “Also, the boss called Mr. Westfield.”

She rolled her eyes. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. I’m just the driver.”

She breathed deeply. “I appreciate the thought, but…it’s not necessary. I promise you I’m not going on a killing a spree. I’m just tired of everyone being soulless dickheads. I don’t want pity. I just want left alone.”

“You’re in the wrong place.” He smiled.

She scoffed. “You don’t say…” Sarcasm drowned self-pity. “I just want to shop at a mall, buy a bunch of pretty clothes, and maybe just maybe eat a meal that isn’t made by a personal cook. Is that too much?”

“Should be shopping for a house.”

“I’ll do that after the upcoming purge.” She mumbled. “Pointless if I don’t live through it.”

He shrugged. “True enough.”

She faced him. “What do you know about Westfield?” 

He laughed. “I work for Mr. Walsh. I know a trap when I see one.”

She turned back to the window in defeat.

“You prefer him.” He pushed.

She picked at her fingernails. “He has more charm than Clayton anyway.”

“And half the dedication.” Her escort said. “It amazes me Sienna Rynald has a likable body double.”

“I take it you slept with her.” She remarked darkly.

Her looked her up and down. “You couldn’t afford the liposuction. Your breasts are real. Your teeth are slightly crooked. And you eat a full meal. I’d break her. You’d be a fun night.”

She sighed. She’d take the compliments as they flowed although she didn’t believe the source.

“Between Westfield and Alcott, the warning label shouts ‘forbidden’.” He leaned back. “I don’t touch forbidden.”

“Good. I wasn’t putting out.” She motioned for him to make the right turn to the mall and she looked forward to draping herself in prettier clothes and maybe a shiny ring.

“Sienna aims as high as its convenient.” He shared. “Everyone knows to treat her like an evening snack – guilty pleasures.”

Her brows lifted. “She’s an entitled bitch.”

“Hasn’t stopped her from rising. “He looked right at her. “And your potential. Maybe you should evaluate where your talents lay.”

Her face burned. “No.”

“Not much of a choice at this point. Seize the opportunity. They’re far and few between.” He advised in a sage-like manner.

Her gut twisted. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

A genuine smile overtook the seriousness. “You’re not as unintelligent as you appear. Your hair should be red, not blonde.”

She blushed. “I’ll keep it blonde.”

Three hours of shopping, extensive window shopping, and ten bags of new clothes, she returned to find Mrs. Walsh waiting for her. Her hunch about the woman’s inside knowledge hit on the nose as Mrs. Walsh promised to apply make up to make her prettier and thrust several swimsuits at her, one of them a bikini she wouldn’t wear in a million years. She countered with a purple tankini, promptly discarded by Mrs. Walsh, and then decided on the two-piece black and gold leopard print.

“You’ll do fine.” The woman assured her. “Your fire will pull you through. I will pray for you. You may not believe, but I do.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve seen many a person in your shoes. Young and unprepared but capable of much more. I should know. I married one.” She beamed at Callisto in the mirror as she styled Callisto’s hair. “My father always doubted him. I never, not once.”

Callisto chewed her lip. “And your evaluation of Mr. Westfield?”

“Easy on the eyes. Disenchanted. The sort that needs firmly guided.” She pat Callisto’s shoulder. “That’ll be your job.”

Her heart broke. She didn’t want to hurt Archie. The $100,000 taunted her and she stepped closer to it and the moral bankruptcy.

Mrs. Walsh adopted her for the rest of the day and praised her selection, wrinkling her nose at the quality of the material. Callisto accepted the snub without being offended, understanding their standards of ‘acceptably nice’ were drastically different due to financial budgets available. Mr. Alcott and Mr. Walsh palled around – through drinks, billiards, darts, lounging by the poolside, more drinks. She envied their bond and missed Layla and Rory. She wanted baby pictures but didn’t want to endanger her friends. She blocked Rory’s and Layla’s number for Rory’s safety and ignored Ghost’s existence.

They made a will at 8 a.m. the following morning. Mrs. Walsh and Mr. Walsh witnessed it, and then the scantily dressed California styled Callisto found her way over to a small hotel with sunscreen, envelope, burner phone, and enough change to buy an uber ride. Mr. Alcott paid off the worker inside and any footage of the hotel pool ‘disappeared’. A bearded man dressed in Hawaiian colors and flip flops sat next to her as she lathered on sunscreen. She smiled at him and asked him to cover her back and shoulders.

“When a lady asks, I can’t refuse.” He openly ogled her breasts.

She subconsciously sucked in her meager gut. “Quite the color scheme you’re wearing. Do you always look like a Hawaiian tourist?” She joked.

He laughed. “Only when I relax by the pool with a pretty lady.”

A gentle breeze stirred her curled hair. The smell of perfume hit him and urged him inward toward her exposed neck.

“Don’t suppose you could help me straighten out a problem?” She asked nervously. What if he was an undercover agent? She didn’t want to go to prison so young. She didn’t want to go to prison at all!

“I have plenty of beer in my room.” He volunteered.

She faced him. “I was thinking a drink or two by poolside, Joe.”

The poolside empty except for the two of them, he dropped the pretense. “You must be Salina.”

She held out her hand. “Happy to make your acquaintance.”

He grabbed her hand and kissed her. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Yeah…well, I’m not exactly digging the Hawaiian shorts.” She tensed. “Sooner we finish this, the better.”

He slipped his hand along her side. “But I like the view.” He whispered in her ear.

“And I like money.” She curled her fingers into his hair. “Trade for trade. Now.”

He skated his fingers up to the swells of her breasts. “You’re no fun.”

She breathed. “Whoever said I was?”

“Where’s the information?”

“Half the bank account now. Then I’ll hand it over.”

“Grab your phone.” He kissed her cheek and dropped his hand along her inner thigh.

Callisto did as ordered. She dialed Mr. Alcott and smiled warmly at Joe the contact. “Hey, Jackass, you really should answer the phone more often when your sister calls. Listen up. I got a few numbers for you.”

Mr. Alcott breathed into the mouthpiece. “Ready to record.” A faint click in the background alerted her to continue.

“Half now, Joe.”

The contact listed off a series of numbers she repeated back.

“Give me my goods, Salina.” His hand slid under her top.

“Envelope.” She looked him in the eye.

He reached around her and dug out the envelope. “Stay cozy. I’ll be back.” He tucked it in his pocket and strolled back toward the rooms. Her eyes traced him until he rounded the building.

“Whatever you do, don’t move.” Mr. Alcott coached.

She adjusted her top. “What if he tries to run?”

“He won’t.”

“Overconfident much?”

He tapped his fingers on the counter inside the hotel.

Dangling her feet in the water, she prayed it wasn’t an undercover. Splashing up cold water, she enjoyed the quiet. Much to her surprise, he strolled back toward her five minutes later and dropped a business card on her lap.

She picked it up and turned it around. Listing them off quickly, she hopped too her feet in a flash and nearly forgot her handbag.

“Transaction complete.” Mr. Alcott replied shortly. “Meet you at the corner.”

She slipped on her pink flip flops and closed the purse. Walking casually toward the street corner, she smiled and talked about shopping as she walked along. Being mindful of the cracks she stopped. The red sports car pulled up.

“Salina! Long time no see, Baby!”

“Think you could offer me a ride, handsome?” She winked at the driver.

She ordered to hop in. She kicked her flip flops off and breathed.

“Hey, Bro…I’m catching a ride. All good?” She felt stupid but it was the first idea that popped in her mind…just in case anyone was listening in on them. “See you later.” She hung up.

“Without a hitch?” The driver asked as they approached the stop sign ahead.

She shook her head. “We’ll say that when we get back.” She pat his shoulder and leaned back in the seat. “Are all handoffs pervy?”

He stopped smiling. “Could break a few fingers if you wanted.”

She declined the offer although she didn’t want to.

The casual ride back the mansion left her in a pit of self-doubts. She beelined for the bedroom to put on real clothes. When she reappeared in jeans and a tank top, Brawley Walsh intercepted her. “You’ve made me a richer man, Miss Carter.”

She backed a step. “Was a pleasure.”

He opened his arms. “You passed. Your training for the next step of your career will start tomorrow.”

She forgot to breathe.

He stepped forward. “Salina. Interesting name.”

“Reminds me of a place I knew once.” She sized him up. “May I ask what training you’re referring to?”

“Desensitization.” He answered. “A traitor outed themselves and you’ll be recording his confessions and final words.”

She visibly paled.

“Stuart will be at your side the entire time.” He promised her.

Except she already hated herself for not running. Oh, what she needed to tell Ben but couldn’t! Why? Why her? She stopped and considered him critically. “You trust me?”

He cocked his head boyishly. “Trust is earned. You are being taught and we must start somewhere.”

Oh. Oh hell no.

She facepalmed. “And the extent of my training?”

“You’re here at Clayton Rynald’s leisure and he works for me. Your training will last as long as I insist it to last.” He looked her in the eye. “Blood out, Miss Carter.”

Her lip twisted. “Am I technically Clayton’s prisoner?”

Her shook his head. “As of…11:17 a.m. you become a free woman.”

“With limitations.”

“With limitations.”

She studied him. “Not to ah…fuck it. I’m dead anyway. You’ wouldn’t happen to be number 1, would you? Top of the tier? Head honcho.”

He laughed loudly and stopped as abruptly. “What gives you that opinion?” He demanded peculiarly.

“Oh, my luck hasn’t exactly been the best of late. Tricked into working for the man who tortured me, falling for his underling cousin who I argue with as much as I flirt with, making a stupid deal with a certain regional manager that ultimately lead me here. The more I slide away from abiding the law, the more I climb the other side. Inverted luck, I guess.”

She flicked off the ceiling aka ‘god’.

“That and the mini mansion, the Irish accents…my guess. You’re possibly another regional, but I don’t think you are. Ireland and UK. How close am I?”

He extended his hand. She slid hers in his. “Mrs. Walsh, your guest volunteered for a shopping trip.” Mrs. Walsh beamed at her. “Do be kind to my wife.”

Callisto nodded. “You have my complete attention, Mrs. Walsh.” She hooked arms with the lady.

“Miss Carter? It would be foolish to disappoint the primary.” He said and walked away.

She laughed. Of all the rotten luck in the world, it landed at her feet.


	11. Chapter 11

Callisto’s battle scars doubled after filming the confession and subsequent execution at gunpoint. A heavy drink, a roll between the sheets, and she sprinted into three days at the range under Finlay Murphy’s supervision. At the range she practiced with each rifle and handgun placed in her hands and learned of Finlay’s blood connection to Brawley Walsh.

It didn’t surprise her to learn he was the favored nephew, although his low level of authority left her with unspoken questions.

The next four days she hung on Mr. Alcott’s arm and tolerated a Clayton Rynald wannabe with less money and twice the influence. Mrs. Walsh treated her to a day at the spa and apologized for the inconvenience.

“Devlin is a man who has connections, except he forgets who he works for.” Mrs. Walsh explained over martinis. “He’ll learn soon enough.”

Callisto doubted Devlin would live long – or live freely – to learn his lesson.

“We planned on adopting you into the family as Mrs. Westfield.” Mrs. Walsh smiled widely at her. “It’s clear you’re head over heels for the young man.”

Sipping on her martini, Callisto let it wash over her as casually as everything else. “I assume you’re enjoying the planning of our wedding.” She remarked.

Mrs. Walsh raised her martini to Callisto’s. “Brawley intends to host the wedding at the mansion. Your job will be simple. We know you’re not calloused enough to hunt people down and make them disappear. We’re working within your skillset.”

“Are we allowed to talk about that here?” Callisto whispered.

Mrs. Walsh gestured to the café tucked away in a small country club almost exclusively occupied by the organization members or NFFA members. “We own this.”

She quelled the inner rebellion with the stern reminder Ben’s life hung in the balance. “How soon is the wedding?”

“It is scheduled for Purge night. We felt it fitting given how you first met.”

Except she barely remembered Archibald Westfield and she hadn’t formed a friendship with him until she learned to relax around him. The Brawleys probably didn’t know that, a fact she welcomed freely.

“We’ll shop for your dress within the next month. You’ll meet the other wives.” Mrs. Walsh glowed with genuine joy. 

She hoped Ben was safe.

“Your brother will attend with his significant other.”

Callisto almost spilled her martini.

“A charming young lady. The niece of Finlay’s right hand, conveniently the man training your brother.” Mrs. Walsh challenged her, sounding perfectly sweet and dangerous at the same time. “It is pleasing to see one’s plan goes accordingly.”

She controlled her expression into neutrality as the need for revenge burned through her veins. One day she was going to cripple them. Sadly that wasn’t today. Nonetheless, she needed to address everything or suffer another blow up.

“May I speak honestly?” She asked.

Mrs. Walsh gestured for her to continue speaking.

She inhaled. “I’m not trying to go against the company. I’m just trying to survive. I like Archie. He’s a sweetheart. I obviously don’t tolerate Clayton Rynald and his sister. That’s obvious to everyone vaguely familiar with me. It’s open knowledge that the only person that keeps me going somedays is Ben. All that said, I’m not fighting the system. A little forewarning is all I’m asking.”

Mrs. Walsh raised her martini to her and Callisto air clinked before sipping the drink. She lost herself in the gin martini and wondered how soon before she succumbed to alcoholism.

Her head swirled and she set the unfinished drink on the table.

“Mr. Westfield will pick your home from a list of preselected houses. Your job is secure and sanctioned as long as the public is not made fully aware of it and who you work for.” Mrs. Walsh broke the silence as a waitress placed two plates of salads on the table. “You can pick the state most suitable to your preferences. Mr. Westfield will live with you and assist you in your job requirements. One must have a supportive spouse to be successful.” A special twinkle entered her eye and Callisto believed that Mr. and Mrs. Walsh celebrated a happy marriage.

She indulged in the lightly dressed salad.

“The NFFA understands the value of money and encourages it to be freely spent in the confines of their borders.”

“Sadly that comes at the cost of people dying horrifically on a single day of the year, every year.” She viciously stabbed at the salad with the shiny fork. “Just because someone- is poor – doesn’t mean they- deserve to die.” She heaved and quickly caught herself before she offended someone from NFFA. “Mom didn’t deserve to die and neither did anyone else in the building.”

Mrs. Walsh bowed her head.

Callisto looked up briefly and then resumed stabbing at the salad.

“Was your mother properly buried?”

“Couldn’t afford it. State burned the body and dumped the ashes in a mass grave.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Sincere regret touched the irish woman’s voice. “Have you thought of having a plaque made?”

Callisto breathed. “It doesn’t matter. We’re just another statistic. If you don’t have money you don’t matter. That has been made abundantly clear and reinforced thoroughly.” Fork met plate and she dropped the fork and reached for the martini again.

Mrs. Walsh said nothing, but Callisto felt better lifting the unexpected burden off her chest. She contributed to the tip for the waitress and almost fell asleep during the traffic filled ride back to the mansion. She crashed out next to the pool, waking to a wet towel across her back and shaded by an large poolside umbrella. Hours passed and sunset hinted in the sky.

“You were snoring as you slept. Rest well?” Mrs. Walsh teased.

She closed her eyes again. “Maybe. We’ll find out soon enough.”

“Have you properly addressed the fact you miss your mother?”

“With what time?” She mumbled and rolled over onto her front. “Ben and I struggled to make rent, and then Clayton offered me a position. I didn’t know whose offer I accepted because I only knew him as Nathaniel Lawson. It wasn’t until I laid eyes on him that I wanted to shoot myself.”

“What stopped you?”

“Ben.” She told the truth. “Plus I don’t want to greet Mom and Grandma and Grandpa earlier than I should. It would be difficult to explain the why and then not be lectured on why I wasn’t the ‘stronger’ person. Ben is delicate. Or was, anyway.”

Mrs. Walsh sipped water and flipped a page in her romance novel. “Your commitment to your family is admirable. Suicidal but admirable.”

Callisto breathed and stretched. “Sometimes when you have nothing, it’s not really true. Possessions are only one part of a person’s wealth. Who you love and trust is the other half. What good is a house if it isn’t a home, y’know?”

“Hmm.” Mrs. Walsh smiled at her. “I think you’ll be good for him.”

“Archie?”

Mrs. Walsh nodded. “He’s much like yourself. Smart enough to know when to obey and cooperate and more restrained than you and likely twice as bitter. You’ll be the perfect couple to alleviate the dissatisfaction.” She continued to read and sip her water.

Callisto sat up and flexed her wrists. She glanced around at the guards casually joking with each other and taking advantage of the pool. “I take it everyone is related to someone in the company?” She asked directly.

“More or less. It helps control the individual.”

“And the traitors are rare?”

Mrs. Walsh lifted her gaze. “When one has children, everyone is related, yes. It is rare.”

Callisto cocked her head. “You expect Archie and I to have children.”

“No. But it will happen eventually.” She answered whimsically. “If it does, your child will have a guaranteed spot at a private school valued for its quality education.”

She yawned. “$100,000 seems a large amount to pay one person to murder people ‘quietly’.”

“We pay each individual based on the risks they take. If you could face significant prison time, your pay will be higher.”

Callisto brushed aside her confusion. In all honestly she didn’t know what professional murderers were paid. Frankly, she didn’t care. At this moment, she wanted to learn the expected so she could safely deliver without losing her head. “I’m protected as long as my work is sanctioned.”

“You’ll be in charge of executing traitors, informants, and the such in the safety of a facility or a separate cover home. You’ll dispose of the bodies. You’ll have your own team of cleaners.”

The ‘why me’ answered, Callisto realized no one viewed her as a threat or thought she’d run away. It warmed her soul. This place felt more like home to her than Clayton’s. Odd. She’d die much quicker here than there.

“Am I returning soon to the Rynald pit of hell?” She asked seriously.

Mrs. Walsh half smiled. “That remains to be seen. Do not worry. You are welcome to engage in premarital relations with Mr. Westfield.”

“Uh…”

“Close your mouth. We’re all adults here and you aren’t my child.” Mrs. Walsh instructed kindly and returned to her book.

Taking the opportunity to escape with her skin still attached, she meandered toward her bedroom and stopped at the sounds of loud moans seeping through the cracks of the bedroom door. She turned on her heel and headed toward the kitchen for a refreshing cup of iced tea when she crossed Mr. Alcott flirting with the cook.

“If you’re not having sex in our bedroom, who is?” She quizzed.

He held out his arm to her. She slipped into his hold and flashed a quick smile at the cook. “One of the visiting couples who are only staying a few hours.”

“On our bed?”

“I’ll have the sheets changed before we go to bed tonight.” He promised her.

She didn’t like it. “I need clothes to wear. Clothes that are in that room.”

“Just wait an hour.”

She held her tongue. “I guess I’ll grab something to drink and relax in the living room for an hour or two.” She resigned.

He let her go and continued to flirt with the cook. A full glass of iced tea, she padded her way to the living room she absolutely loved. Sprawling out on the grand couch, she tried to fall asleep again. Finlay and Brawley walked into the living room speaking in Gaelic and stopped when they spotted her.

“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t understand a word.” She assured them. “I’m only here because two strangers are having sex in my bedroom.”

Finlay cocked his head in question.

“The Walbrights arrived. They’re flying out to close another deal after debriefing us.” Brawley explained. “You would be greatly interested in meeting them, Miss Carter.”

“Any particular reason?” Callisto asked.

Finlay backed out of the room quickly as if on a mission.

Brawley dropped into his chair. “They can help you wisely discover the best path for you in the ‘company’.”

She turned on her side and sipped her iced tea. “I think I’ve met enough people at this point that I’m going to offend someone and lose a finger. It’s practically guaranteed at this point.” She wanted to laugh about it, but the truth hurt. Pity likely kept people from directly attacking her at the moment.

He trained his attention on her. “They’re like you. They were witnesses given two options. What they turned into were the best closers for international deals. Multilingual. Finlay and Mr. Walbright invest in respectable trades and earn clean income on the side.”

She laid on her back again and stared up at the bronze ceiling. “I already had a more indepth talk with your wife. The way you build the company is interesting. Dangerous, but given that I’m still breathing I’m not questioning it. Not openly anyway.”

He chuckled. “And what color will your Purge night wedding dress be?”

She laughed. “Red…I don’t know. I never dreamed about my wedding day. Black? White would be a very bad color.”

“My wife looks forward to picking out the dress, the cake, the catering menu-“

She threw her arm over her eyes. “She’s welcome to invite anyone she likes. The only guest I care about Ben. If Sienna and Clayton argue however, I’m tossing them to the curb.” She warned seriously.

He sighed heavily. “One would imagine they’d work through their disagreements.”

She dropped her arm to her side. “One would imagine that. I almost felt bad for her at one point, but Archie said that would ‘go away’.” She dropped the air quotes and folded her hands on her chest. “Why hasn’t she been married off like Ben and I?”

He scoffed. “You’ve met the woman.”

“Yes, but she’s someone flavor.” She sat up straight and raked her fingers through her hair. Uncomfortably aware of her belly pudge, she pulled her legs to her chest. “Surely there’s someone crazy enough to take her on. Or him. Just because I hate him doesn’t mean he can’t be charming in his own right.”

Brawley’s face contorted before he bowed his head. “We tried. He called off the engagement after three weeks. If you haven’t heard, which you have, Sienna’s bedded half the company. The other half were beneath her or unattractive.”

Her brows arched. “So you’re telling me the only way to avoid being married off to Archie is to act like a bitch or someone completely totally devoid of soul?”

He laughed. “No. You would either cooperate or being given a dirt exit.”

She nodded slowly. “I will have my room back soon, right?”

“They have a deal to close, so yes.”

She liked listening to his accent, and with her frustrations lowered significantly, she let herself think better of him as a person. If she was trapped, she needed to work a way out of that trap. Given the circumstances, going along with their trap kept her alive.

He moved to his feet and towered over her briefly. “I am pleased you are cooperating, Miss Carter. I do not wish to retire your stubbornness so early.”

She smiled widely. “I don’t intend to go to my grave without a fight, and Archie isn’t a bad choice for husband material. I mean I’m a little young for a marriage, but if it keeps everyone here happy and me away from Clayton and Sienna, I’m not arguing.” She shrugged apathetically.

“Unless you preferred the ceremony to be at Clayton’s property?” He asked.

She stopped to dwell on it. “Am I paying for it?”

“No.”

“Sure. Just to piss off Clayton.” She grinned ear to ear.

He chuckled on his way out of the room.

She laid back down again and checked the crystal studded clock on the wall and sighed. Another forty some minutes before she might be able to reenter her bedroom. 

The longer she thought about her current decisions, the more she hated herself less and pitied herself more. She’d justify it to her mother when she met her mother at the gateway of death.

Finlay rejoined her in the living room and smiled broadly. “My uncle likes you.”

“That so?” She turned her head toward him. “Why?”

He cracked open a beer and kicked his feet out. “You’re an honest woman. Easy to read and control. People like you are the ideal. How you came to learn about us and join us, less ideal, but not a deal breaker.” He raised his beer to her. “You’ve talked to my aunt. What do you think we could improve upon?”

She closed her eyes and inwardly laughed at the audacity. They wanted advice – from her!

She blinked several times and cleared her throat. “With all due respect, I’m the last person to offer advice. I’m new, pissed off, and uncomfortable with everything. If you want to know what you did right…I don’t know…not treating me like a prisoner as much as Clayton treated me as one…a win? Not that you didn’t have eyes on me at all times.”

“What kind of music do you listen to?”

“Anything with lyrics I can understand.” She personally disliked rap, hard rock, and jazz, but at this point, anything to break the tension helped. “I suppose it helps when no one here took part in physically torturing me. I’m not Sienna. I don’t deserve to be punished for her sins.”

Popular post-purge pop artists Lumi Artemis belted out bloody lyrics celebrating the twelve hours of lawlessness.

“ _Stain the streets in red as I hunt you down. Breaking my heart was your worst mistake. Now your last_.”

She snorted. Killing people over a broken heart – no, losing a relative was not the same as someone breaking her heart.

“ _Bang, bang. There goes your best friend. Bang, Bang. There goes your baby brother. Bang, bang_ -“

“Are all artists this murderous in their lyrics?” He asked in confusion.

She sighed. “After the purge boosted in popularity, which didn’t take long, song writers and small time artists shot to stardom with purge songs and entire albums focused on murdering, raping, and stealing one’s way to the upper class. Not every artist embraces the purge music and they’re still successful but it’s a growing market. I don’t know what happened to people but the world’s gone insane.”

Finlay sat in his uncle’s chair and nodded. “Death is for those who impede our success.”

She quietly accepted the fact that she would have to live with the boiling guilt the rest of her life. “I’m glad you’re not murder crazy. Killing people is a necessary part of your job, I’m sure, but at least you aren’t mindless about it.”

He stared at her. “There is no honor is pointlessly killing people.”

“An honor code. I respect that.”

“We are not all monsters. Sometimes, it is simply what the job requires.” He poetically stated. “I know you understand that. You’ve killed people on Purge nights.”

And she cleansed herself of the blood afterwards. “I’m not only going to murder people, Finlay. I’m pursuing an interior design career as well.” And she prayed she could succeed in that field because she had no idea how she was hiding $100,000 a year if the government changed hands.

“We all have second streams of income. I invest in stocks – Google is a difficult one to buy into.”

She laughed at his frustration. “Social Media took off like a firestorm…Think the Walbrights will be finished in less than a half hour? I feel weird lounging in swimwear.”

He shook his head. “Want a beer?”

She accepted and decided to enjoy the good company while it lasted.


	12. Chapter 12

Callisto briefly spoke with the Walbrights, an American couple who spoke Russian, Gaelic, Spanish, French, and Cantonese in addition to English, and wished them luck with their deal. Promptly stripping the bed down to the sheets, she controlled her distaste and rooted through her closet for a suitable evening outfit and checked the phone charge.

Opening her text messages, she received ten pictures of Ben’s city apartment and his new girlfriend, Teagan. She repressed the urge to strangle people and sent back several celebration emojis before promptly unblocking Rory’s phone number and calling her as she dressed.

“About time you got off your ass and called me.” Rory mumbled on the other end of the phone. “It’s like you disappeared off the map.”

She bit her tongue. “A lot of life changes. I just wanted to make sure my bestie is alive.” And that I miss you and Layla, Callisto thought.

“Never better. Where are you living these days? Did you know they rented out your apartment to a couple doped up so high I wonder if they even make rent?”

“No, but it sounds about right.” Serves the owner right after harassing each tenant for rent before it was due!

“It’s something your mother would complain about to the building management.” Rory laughed and quieted. “I miss her, Cali.”

“I do too.” Callisto willed away the tears and hyper focused on her clothes hanging in the closet. “She’s in a better place.”

“And you?” Rory demanded.

The door creaked open and she turned to Mr. Alcott leaning casually against the doorframe. She briefly waved.

“California for now. I got hired on at a security firm. They pity hired my brother too, not that I don’t think Ben deserves the opportunity for bettering himself.”

Technically not a total lie, but she bet not even a tightrope performer could walk across it without falling.

“Maybe when I’m back in Pennsylvania we can hang out.” She didn’t know how to hide Archibald from Rory’s memory, but she’d lie through her teeth. Distancing the friendship might save Rory and Layla and harm her in the end.

Something tinkled in the background. “We’ll have to plan another time. I’m traveling with Layla at the moment. She and her boyfriend are looking for a new house. While we were dealing with the assistant living home and you being kidnapped, her boyfriend robbed Mr. Eckhart.”

“Did he survive?” Mr. Eckhart, one of the few people who invested wisely, and lightning struck to propel him into the upper class, held grudges like the worst criminal out for blood.

“Found dead by his daughter the next day.”

Callisto wondered how long that heist had been planned and instantly dismissed it. What they did was no worse than what she submitted to now.

“You’re not being followed?” She crossed her fingers anxiously.

“Not that we know of.”

She uncrossed her fingers. “Text me when you get the chance. I want all the baby pics too. No skimping.”

Rory laughed and hung up. Callisto put her phone down and faced him.

“You’re better at lying than you believe.”

She shrugged. “The organization is a company and I was ‘recommended’, and Ben is more or less a pity ‘recommendation’. I don’t know how I’m explaining Archie, but if she’s traveling with Layla it’s not a problem yet.”

He pointed to her phone. “Have you talked to your brother?”

She opened the pictures. “You mean these?”

“She’s aware of the family business. She’ll keep your brother alive.” Mr. Alcott promised. “Everything is arranged. We have people where it counts.”

Her jaw worked back and forth. “Okay.”

“When you return, be it at the end of three weeks or six months, you’ll be moving onto your full position.” He said seriously. “The house will be an early purchase. The wedding will be at the Rynald Estate. Finlay Murphy is replacing Mr. Westfield as Clayton Rynald’s second-in-command. You’re a mistake we can’t afford to repeat.”

She swallowed hard and smiled cheerfully.

“Dinner in a half hour.” He left her alone in the room to dwell on his words.

The next weeks passed less action packed. Desensitization lead to Callisto to watching torture video after torture video until she lost her appetite. She hit the home gym in an effort to punish herself and nearly twisted her ankle more than once. Finlay spotted her on the weights and helped teach her how to sculpt her core and arms. Separating the acts of violence from guilt and disgust, she attended an autopsy under Brawley’s orders and promptly decorated a student’s shoe in vomit. By the third autopsy, her appetite wandered back with a vengeance.

Ben texted and called her often enough. They never shared the details of their jobs and training, but he liked Teagan well enough to think of her as wife material in a few years. She hadn’t spoken a word to Archibald since she departed for California and it worried her. Sad as it was, she refused to admit she didn’t have his phone number. Did he have hers?

Layla sent baby photos and Rory called twice. Callisto itched to tell them the truth and almost broke down when Rory cried over her mother’s death.

Brawley handed her a set of keys after an exhausting afternoon of learning how to use a meat grinder “just in case”.

“Keys to the mansion?” She asked in confusion.

He then handed over a file. “Your new home is being prepared for your arrival. Butterscotch and Mr. Westfield are already there. You’ll find the alternative methods of disposal will be unnecessary. The government considers you a sanctioned agent. If a change in leadership takes place, we’ll need to make other arrangements. Any corpses will be disposed of by the government. A contact number will be provided at the house.”

She opened the file to a simple one level, three-bedroom home with a basement in the heart of the Pennsylvanian woods but close enough to civilization to have modern luxuries. “Rather convenient for $100,000.”

“Part of your salary is hazard pay.” He explained. “Mr. Westfield will be your bodyguard and assist in the task of body disposal.”

She flipped through the pictures of an otherwise nondescript home. “I’m the fall guy.” That’s why it was so easy!

It was too easy a job assignment. Common sense said run. Common sense also told her save herself before she was in too deep with kids.

“We take care of our own.” Brawley assured her.

Her brow cocked. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Clean yourself up. Your flight out is tonight.”

Pictures in hand with keys, a fully packed Callisto returned ‘home’ disenchanted with the world. Archibald Westfield met her at the airport as promised and greeted her with a kiss.

“Sun blessed skin.” He ran his hand along her shoulders.

She admit she’d miss the pool.

“My legs don’t burn or tan.” Odd but true, and she didn’t care to fix the issue either.

“What did you do to your hair?” Disapproval marked his face.

“It’s hot. I cut it.” Mrs. Walsh helped pick out the cute bob after a day shopping, Callisto stupidly thinking that Archibald would like it. “It’ll grow back.”

He frowned. “At least you kept it blonde.” 

She shook her head. “No Mr. Bromwell?”

He put his arm around her shoulder. “He is Clayton’s driver.”

She handed him one of the suitcases. “A shame. I liked him.”

“Am I not the better option?” He sounded offended.

“Of course, you are. We have all the time in the world to become acquainted.” She gestured him to lead through all the people swarming around them. A part of her – paranoid – worried they weren’t protected and covered.

He led her to a SUV shining spotless in the parking garage. He packed the suitcases in the back as she entered the vehicle and buckled in. He let her pick the music as he wound his way through the garage and into traffic. Hitting the toll road and racing toward the future thrust on them, Archibald appeared at ease behind the wheel.

“You might want to slow down. The cops can be assholes.” She warned him as they neared an exit.

He flashed a quick smile at her.

“We need to be discreet.”

“I know.” He slowed enough to calm her.

She flicked through the myriad of country music. “Are we engaged or planning a proposal?” She asked bluntly.

He took the nearest exit and slowed rapidly. “What kind of man would I be if I didn’t properly propose?” He teased.

“The kind of man who was told who his wife would be.” She answered sarcastically. “I mean…unless you knew all along?”

He handed her his cell phone. “Read as you wish.”

She placed it in the cupholder. “I want our relationship to be based on trust, even if it starts out…” She shrugged awkwardly.

“You sure you don’t want to investigate for yourself?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I only want one – no, two answers. First, I want to know how you truly feel about all ‘this’ and then I want to know when you were told about ‘this’.” She waved her hands about.

His face darkened and he gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Her gut twisted. “Whatever you say can’t be worse than Mr. Walsh, Mrs. Walsh, Mr. Murphy, and Mr. Alcott.” She listed off all the people who majorly impacted her in California and needed to tip toe around. If she were honest, they were the only people she interacted with.

In fact, her standards lowered significantly. She didn’t notice it until recently how low it sunk.

“I knew when you were ordered to go to California.” He answered. “The Rynalds were informed yesterday.”

She looked him in the eye. “Having trouble with the orders?”

“I never wanted you exposed to ‘this’.” He gestured as she did.

She exhaled.

“Needless to say, his plans to kill Sienna using you have been sidelined.” He ended dryly. “As for how I feel? Uncertain. We haven’t exactly established solid ground.”

And then reality kneecapped her. The flirting cracked the shield, but her stupidity lured her in too deep to escape.

She looked out the window as they passed through another small town. “How did you want to approach it? If it’s impossible to escape, we may as well set our own rules.” She wanted to know how Ben handled his meeting of Teagan to compare the score of ‘How Fucked Up Is This? and How Stupid Were You?’

He pulled over in a small parking lot next to the mall’s parking lot converted into an art festival. Turning the vehicle off and opening his email, he then handed it over to her. “Full disclosure.”

She held it in her hand. “What did you do?”

“Nothing that should upset you.”

Her mind spun in place. “All I want is answers.”

“You’re the last face they see, I’m the person that bruises them. Roughs them up.” Shame colored his cheeks and he looked away. “I am also delegated to position of guarding you. I…I didn’t want you know. You don’t look at me as if I’m a disappointment.”

Her ears picked on something more than the surface desires, and the pixels of information pooled into a portrait.

“You soften them up and I send them out. I always knew there was more to it.” They were also both reluctant in their roles, and in a weird, fucked up way she understood. CYA. Cover Your Ass. She’d pat them on the back for that.

She looked at him curiously. “Do you know how many hours of footage I watched of people being tortured? Being softened up? I was taught how to use an incinerator. I was taught how to bury people. How deep, what to cover them with, how to destroy DNA, how to threaten people, how to use weapons I didn’t already use. You being…an enforcer? Is the least of my issues. Do you need the therapy?”

He leaned back in the seat and laughed darkly.

“Because unless you’re hurting me, my brothers, or my friends, I have bigger issues. We all done some fucked up bullshit, especially with the Purge night being an annual nightmare.”

He pulled her into his arms and held her close.

She clung to him.

“Too late now.” He whispered. “Pursue your dream. Do good.”

She shook. “What do we do now?”

“Well, for starters, let’s go to our home.” He kissed her.

She cupped his face and inhaled his cologne. He always smelled so damn good. “Take me home, Mr. Westfield.” She smiled up at him.


	13. Chapter 13

The new Westfield family home housed the ambivalent couple the rest of the summer, fall, and winter. Spring peaked its head and the wedding day marched onward into beautiful sixty-degree weather after a frigid winter. The real wedding preparations hit Clayton Rynald’s property a week before March 21st.

Throwing a fit about her space being invaded Sienna tried to leave the country, but Clayton cut off her credit cards and blocked her out of her own account. She then suffered the close attentions of Mrs. Walsh and Mrs. Murphy promising to introduce her to a wonderful young man to sweep to sweep her off her feet.

Sienna agreed to it all under the stipulation she didn’t need to tolerate Callisto Carter being thrown at her as an example of a success story.

The actual arrival of Archibald Westfield and Callisto Carter the day prior to the wedding amped up the energy and planning stress of a wedding director under extreme stress to deliver perfection. Archibald drove them out to the estate and lost himself at the many voices needing a word with him or wanting him to invest in their business plan and such. Callisto and the wedding director followed the plan of prepping her skin, hair, and nails before shoving her into a properly fitted wedding gown and paraded as a company member.

“Looking vibrant as always, Callisto.” Mrs. Walsh hugged the bride the early afternoon of March 21. The day that infamously altered her entire life haunted Callisto, even as she mingled with people she considered associates and quite possibly friends.

Clayton Rynald’s home flooded with guests and forced the guards to double their hours and numbers. Distinguished guests milled about the house since 9 a.m. granting no relief to the disgruntled Clayton and bitchy Sienna. Among the guests invited, the Walshs, Walbrights, Murphys, Mr. Alcott, and Mr. Wyche demanded most of her attention when she only wanted to speak to one person – BEN.

Archibald claimed Ben from the get-go, the only time Callisto could see him that day. Teagan attached herself to Callisto like a leech with semi-selective devout loyalty.

“Wonders of makeup.” She joked with Mrs. Walsh. “The power of youth the other half.”

“And the groom?” Brawley asked.

She leaned in conspiratorially. “The bride is not permitted to see the groom, although I was tempted. And blocked by six different people. That said, he is somewhere in the company of Ben. Probably already got the brotherly talk of ‘Don’t hurt my sister or I hurt you’.”

“What do you think of your sister-in-law?” Mrs. Walsh’s eagerness creeped and then exploded into forgivable affection.

She chuckled. “All Teagan has asked about is why Ben is so paranoid.” Her voice added a sarcastic font. “Gee, Teagan, I don’t know why. Maybe it has something to do with how he met you.” She smiled at Brawley quickly. “No offense.”

He kissed her hand sporting the white gold diamond ring Archibald surprised her with after two months of living at the new home. Archibald called it the American home and suggested they try to live in London. She told him it wasn’t a bad idea, but they needed to save up first. “None taken. Are you enjoying your day?”

She cleared her throat. “Everyone is losing their head. The wedding director threatened to quit, twice.”

“It’s a company wedding. The director won’t quit.” He promised her.

“No reason for everyone to want perfection of the slightest detail. It’s a wedding of two random people. Not royals. I can’t wait for everyone to just…” She flat lined her hand.

Mrs. Walsh clutched onto her husband’s arm. “It will, after the ceremony is over and everyone can indulge in their favorite drinks and broken dancing.” She glanced up at Brawley. “And their two left feet.”

“You married me.” He reminded her kindly.

“We’ve tried to take lessons, but it always ends the same way – his two left feet stay two left feet.” Mrs. Walsh teased affectionately.

Callisto appreciated their intimacy but it impeded on her own happy space. “Teagan’s sweet enough. Has enough questions to fill a book. Who knew a miserable piss poor raising could be interesting?”

Brawley clasped his hands together. “To those of privilege, it is.”

Callisto shrugged again. “She’s adorably confused. I feel bad for her. Ben apparently doesn’t talk much. Except work. Archie and I at least talked things out. Figured how to be happy. I’ll have a word with Ben if I can avoid the hairstylist, the nail artist- “

She glanced over her shoulder at her name being shouted. “Well, it’s been beautiful, but I- “

Mrs. Walsh blocked her path. “Beautiful wedding, beautiful bride. Go. You have three hours before you say, ‘I do’.”

She briefly considered making a run for it and promptly dumped that idea in the bad idea bin. What was wrong with a small wedding? She turned herself in to the nail artist beckoning her to the library and handed herself over. They locked everyone out.

She listened to the dark-haired woman prattle on about the value of being a dutiful wife and Callisto leaned forward. “We work for the same people, right?”

“I wouldn’t be here if we didn’t, Dear.” The elder woman condescendingly declared.

“I can’t exactly embody all of the values you think I should and still do my job.” Callisto didn’t think operating in her position without requiring permission from Archibald constantly was feasible.

The woman looked her in the eye, the psycho ex-girlfriend type stare. “Of course, you can. Just refer to your husband’s will and expectations. Once you have children, it becomes easier.” She said matter-of-factly.

Callisto’s jaw dropped and righted itself. Not even Mrs. Walsh dared cross that line and she masterminded the union.

Instead of fighting the woman, she left the artist talk and go on about the will of God and how husbands in the company always watched helplessly as Teagan rejoined her. Her chest coiled and she waited for the questions.

“Is the woman gone for good?” Teagan asked while guarding the door.

“For now.”

“Can. Not. Stand. Her.” Teagan dramatically threw herself into a chair.

“Did she lecture you on obeying your husband?” Callisto tried to laugh but she wanted to punch the woman instead. “Pompous bitch.”

Teagan laughed and Callisto saw a brief image of what Ben admired. “Everyone has the lecture. She was at my uncle’s wedding. My aunt hates her because she tried to sleep with my uncle.” She adjusted her top. “Stupid dress won’t stay up.”

Callisto smirked. “Double sided tape. Or you keep tugging.”

“You hosted how many parties this year?”

“Since we moved in?” She cocked her head and studied the ceiling. “Eight?” She recounted the endless wave of important people that paraded through her simple house, how many people Archie ‘softened’, and she killed in the secret basement, and the two miscarriages they suffered before she started the shot. “That said…this shit – in your country it’s Shite? – is crazy.”

Teagan chuckled. “The drunken fun hasn’t even started yet.”

Callisto turned at the entrance of the hairstyle who ordered her upstairs for a hair washing and styling. Teagan pined for her own wedding day. Unlike the nail artist, the hairstylist chatted about the positive energy and everyone harmoniously mixing. Callisto and Teagan laughed it off as a coincidence. The stylist pulled Callisto’s hair into a ponytail and baby doll curled the tail.

“I love these weddings.” The stylist said cheerfully before wishing the bride luck.

Teagan lead Callisto the bedroom designated for changing. The black mermaid wedding gown hung on a model and drowned in sunlight. “You’ll need something borrowed and something blue.” She reached for the small wooden box on the stand next to the model.

Resigning herself to the heavily engineered day, she stripped off the jeans and tank top, exposing only the strapless bra and lacy underwear. Her body showed the definition Archibald helped her achieve over their months of living, working, and exercising together. She hated the diet and suffered it to avoid Archibald’s disappointment. She loved him and was willing to suffer along with him.

“You were made for each other.” Teagan said as she handed over a silver anklet. “Something borrowed.”

“Tie the ribbon around the ponytail.” She ordered her future sister-in-law decisively.

They traded smiles and then she slipped on the anklet.

Then they turned to the monstrosity of the dress. Her heart skipped a beat. “If I break my neck falling down the steps could you tell Archie I love him?” She asked seriously.

Slipping into the dress carefully, Teagan fumbled with the buttons in the back. She helped Callisto into the matching heels. “I hope you can walk in this.” Teagan teased.

“In hindsight I probably should have picked out a fluffy skirt instead of a skintight booty hugging masterpiece.” She shrugged it off the best she could. “Don’t forget the ribbon.”

The wedding director knocked on the door. “The guests are filing out to the backyard.” He announced through the door.

“I wish Mom were here.” Callisto whispered.

Teagan stopped. “She is here. In memory.”

“She should be here.” Callisto said firmly.

Afraid of falling down the steps, she held on Teagan for dear life. The wedding director stopped them at the bottom as the last of the guests filed out the back or around the house. White lawn chairs and a single red carpet laid out to the gazebo where the marriage officiant and her fiancé waited. Soft haunting piano music played from large speakers as everyone seated themselves in assigned seats. The director handed her the bouquet and ushered Teagan to her seat next to Ben at the very front.

She held her head high.

Don’t trip. Don’t trip. Don’t trip.

She forced the smile and exhaled once she passed the first row and mounted the gazebo steps. Archie reached out and helped her up the steps. “I can’t move in this.” She whispered.

The wedding officiate cleared his throat.

She apologized quickly.

The music died away and she squared her shoulders.

This was it, the moment that was thoroughly forced. He looked as nervous as her, a handsome puppet stuffed into a black tuxedo and blood red bow tie.

“Welcome today- “The speakers boosted the officiates voice for the back row. “-honored guests the union of Callisto Carter and Archibald Westfield. We celebrate their holy transition into a future blessed with happiness and hopes. We usher in the start of a beautiful marriage.”

She rolled her eyes at the grand wording and fought the urge to throw the bouquet at the officiate.

“Bow your heads to pray- “

Callisto looked Archibald in the eye and did not bow her head.

“-for this handsome couple.” The officiate stared her down.

“My wedding. I’m not religious. I’m not praying.” She stated firmly.

Several disapproving stares rested on her a moment longer before their heads bowed as the officiate lead them in a prayer to draw in goodwill and prosperity for the couple. Death glares flicked between herself and the officiate before the vows were exchanged and they were announced as man and wife.

Archibald squeezed her hand and nodded for her to move forward to the front row.

Callisto edged closer to Teagan and Ben.

He beat her to it and bear hugged her. She relaxed and bear hugged him back, almost crying as this was the first time, she saw him since she left the house to travel to California. “We’ll talk soon.” She promised him tearfully.

Teagan quickly interceded before Ben tried to start a marathon conversation then and there.

The Walbrights suggested they vacation in the UK for the honeymoon. The Walshs professed the firmest belief in their power couple status. The Murphys challenged them to target practice later that night. Mr. Alcott all but announced to Archibald his deal with Callisto ended, a relief to the couple. All the way to the last row they progressed and finally confronted the man who dragged them together.

Clayton Rynald rose stiffly. He looked like he rather suffer a bullet than wish them happiness.

“We still have the rest of the night, Clayton. Business as planned?” She asked bluntly.

He leaned away. “If willing?”

She forced a smile. “Bury the hatchet, right?” She heard enough about Sienna that she no longer cared if the woman lived. Call her evil, but Sienna stepped on one too many nerves.

“Bury the hatchet.” He shook her offered hand.

Archibald smiled broadly at Sienna, who barely glanced at them.

Alone at the end of the aisle, Archibald turned to his wife. “Do I detect bloodshed?”

“Don’t judge me, Archie.” She pleaded.

He planted a kiss on her. “I’m not. I want you to be happy and safe.”

She smiled up at him and caressed his cheek.

Only the strong survived, and some hatchets you needed to bury to see another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I know nothing substantial about organized crimes, pay rates for certain jobs etc. I wasn't aiming for accuracy, just the ballpark familiarity. 
> 
> Also, I could spend hours upon hours researching specific Irish and or English phrases but I chose not to. I doubt I will do an edit to clean up the dialogue but if I do, feel free to critique regardless. It'll just be poured into the next project. 
> 
> I had fun writing this awful masterpiece and I originally had two other endings planned and typed up but as the story unfolded they no longer fit and I discarded them. 
> 
> While this has been a fun diversion, the next time I dive into the purge fandom will be when I write the crossover of Pride and Prejudice and Purge. I can't guarantee that will be this year as I promised a sequel to the vampire AU Pride and Prejudice fanfic. 
> 
> If any one has any fun one shot prompts for the Purge fandom they'd like me to stab at feel free to drop the request but bear in mind I may not get to it right away.


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